the air near my fingers
by ABadPlanWellExecuted
Summary: The TARDIS has crashed, the Doctor is missing, and Rose is alone in the dark.
1. dead leaves and the dirty ground

**A/N: Coauthored by HelplesslyNerdy (on Tumblr/Tsp) and myself.**

It is silent.

…

…

_(Don't let go we're going to crash did they see your face it's on firesmokesparksmetalbloodpaindirtsilence.)_

…

It is silent, but for the ringing.

And one ragged, strangled breath tasting of blood and rot.

With effort, Rose rolls over, and the movement smothers the sirens; the press of her back to the world draws oblivion up and over her like a blanket, and she disappears.

…

…

When reality intrudes once more, it comes with pomp and circumstance, with a fanfare of pain and a choir of aches and cold and…damp.

It's all very damp.

Shivering, she cracks opens her eyes, sticky and hot, but it is much too dark to see anything. The pain in her head is obscene—a great, towering villain, lording itself over all the other, lesser pains in her body that are fighting to make themselves known, and she shuts her eyes again.

Just rest. Sleep.

She has no idea where she is.

As soon as that thought intrudes into her consciousness, her body contorts, muscles fibers firing, and she flails, clutching at the ground. Leaves crunch and crackle in her hands, twigs snap as she sits up.

_Outside._ That much she can tell, can feel in the rough, damp dirt beneath the leaves. She is outside.

_But where is the Doctor?_

The magnitude of that question hits her right in the gut, and she doubles over, retching. Vomiting leaves her lightheaded, and the world spins in the darkness as she staggers drunkenly to her feet. Once she can stop gagging, she tries calling out.

"Doctor?" Her voice is rasping and weak. "Doctor?"

There is no answer.

How did she even get here? Rose tries to remember what set of events led to this moment in time, but all she can recall is that they had been together somewhere and then something about a family or hunters and… And then nothing.

The deep velvet black of the night doesn't yield up any information—Rose can't even see her hand in front of her face. But she is here, so surely the TARDIS must be close by. She casts about, feeling in the dark frantically for a sign of the ship or the Doctor. The footing is treacherous, and she trips over the underbrush. Staggering forward, she bangs a shin against the edge of a wooden panel.

The TARDIS. Ignoring the pain in her leg, she stretches out a hand, trying to map its surface. She can feel the wooden exterior, hotter than it should be and smelling faintly of smoke, but that's all right, it'll be alright, she'll find the Doctor, and…

Her fingertips meet the door handle, but not where she expects it to be. It is still there, still connected to the door, but it is too low and strangely slanted. Tugging on it does nothing—it is sealed tight. She finds the door seam and traces it up, following the unnatural angle all the way up to the windows, and walks face-first into a branch.

The pain of the contact is overwhelming, enough to make her bend and retch against the side of the ship. Panting, she wipes her mouth and mutters an apology to the TARDIS—nothing like booting on the side of a living timeship. Once she recovers, Rose makes her way, more cautiously now, around the other side of the ship, feeling for its base. She finds it, tilting out of the earth and underbrush, and there's no doubt anymore.

The TARDIS has crashed.

The obviousness of this conclusion flutters through her mind, but she is too tired and dizzy to wrap her head around it. The only thoughts that she can hold on to are that the Doctor isn't here and she needs to find help.

She tries shouting his name once more, but her voice is hardly more than a wheezy croak, and anyway, there's no one here to hear her. She reaches out but there's no one there to take her hand. She needs to find the Doctor.

She needs to find him.

She needs to…

Her feet start walking, stumbling down the slight downhill slope, the path of least resistance. The terrain is rough, and she half-shambles, using her arms to navigate her way through the underbrush.

At one point, the angle of the slope increases, and she slips down the muddy incline, sliding over the wet leaves and landing in a pile at the bottom. She lies there for a long while, dazed.

She is terribly, terribly thirsty.

It is enough to get her up again, keep her moving. She has to walk, has to find something to drink. That's what she's searching for, isn't it?

Keep walking.

She drifts in and out of awareness as she stumbles along. The underbrush is particularly thick in places, and she's forced to push her way through, bushes and thorny vines tearing at her clothes.

Without warning, she falls forward and plunges into cold water.

Instinct kicks in; her flailing legs and arms find purchase on the rocky riverbed, and she gets her head above water. The river pulls her, tugging at her hair and clothes, but it's not deep enough or strong enough to force her downstream. Gasping, she claws blindly at the rocks, coughing up mouthfuls of water. Her chest is still aching from the smoke, and the intrusion of water into her lungs is like a knife slashing with every spasm.

Bracing her feet against the bottom, she manages to haul herself upright. It's no deeper than mid-thigh, navigable at a crouch. She moves slowly and carefully, feeling for the bank. When her hand meets the grassy, muddy edge, she whimpers in relief. Luck is with her—it is wide and clear of debris. With some effort, she manages to scramble up it and then flops down on her back, wheezing from the exertion.

The fall has left her disoriented, but adrenalin is surging through her, temporarily clearing her head and blocking out the pain. She's been too careless, she realizes. Staggering about in the dark like this, not paying the slightest attention to where she's going—it's a wonder she hasn't fallen off a cliff. She needs to find help, and the best bet for that is following this little river.

Right. Time to get going.

…

Well…maybe in just a moment.

It feels so good to lie down, to rest her aching arms and legs and head. Following a river in the dark sounds exhausting and wet and scratchy and dangerous. Surely it wouldn't hurt to wait here a while, at least until her clothes dry off a little, she thinks with a tired sigh. Just rest here, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face.

Rose's eyes fly open.

No. No, that's not the sun on her face. It's still dark out. Her head is killing her, and her eyes are gritty and hideously painful, but she would definitely be able to see sunlight. So what's warming her face?

She tentatively feels around, and it's not just her—the ground is warm, too. She digs her fingers into the dirt and finds that it's cool and wet underneath the topsoil. So the heat source is definitely coming from above.

Something alien? Some evil overlord's towering, terrible heat ray, maybe? With effort, she calms herself, slows her breathing, and goes still and quiet. It's too dark to see anything, but she can still listen. Focusing on the sound around her, she first hears the river and all its musical gurgling. Stretching out further, she listens for anything mechanical, anything alien, anything _human_.

Nothing.

Just the river. No car engines or spaceship thrusters or evil heat rays. Just the splashing noise of the water and the singing of the birds and the faint sound of wind in the trees and—

…

Wait.

Bird song.

Yes, now that she listens for it…

The birds are singing, all around her in the forest, the birds are _singing_, flying about and singing, just as if…

Just as if it were day.

For the first time, her fingers tentatively creep up her face, tracing the edges of the bruises and cuts until they reach the horrible swelling around the base of her eyes. The mere thought of trying to touch her eyelids is nauseating, the pain outrageous. But it doesn't matter—she can feel enough to know the truth.

The world isn't dark at all.

She just can't see it.


	2. i just don't know what to do with myself

**A/N: Coauthored by HelplesslyNerdy (on Tumblr/Tsp) and myself.**

_The sky is a bright, brilliant blue. Cerulean blue, vivid and shiny and full of light, and they are slowly spiraling through it. Rose stretches as the sun comes into view and spills its light all over her skin. One leg hangs out the open TARDIS doors, dangling in midair, and she giggles at the thought of her trainer slipping off and plummeting thousands of feet to the ground. (Sprouting wings; flying through the air. Sticking out its tongue at them as it escapes into the blue yonder.)_

_One lone, lazy little cloud drifts by, and Rose wrinkles her nose. With some effort, she sticks her tongue out, blue from her lollipop, in an attempt to block out the puffy white. But it's uncomfortable and doesn't work very well and really, it's better for everyone when she huffs and puffs and blows it away, leaving her nothing but a perfect sky of sunshine._

"_Amazing!" says the Doctor's voice, from somewhere near her non-dangling knee. "Rose, you really ought to sit up. You're missing the view of the river."_

"_You ought to lie down," she answered, the words clacking against the candy in her mouth. "You're missing the view of the sky."_

_His head appears above hers, and she can smell the cherry on his breath from his own lolli. She wonders if it stained his tongue red. If it did, then she ought to just grab him by the collar and give him a good snog—it will be red and blue all crisscrossed, like the Union Jack but with tongues. She snorts with laughter. _

"_C'mon, Rose," he coaxes, tugging at her hand, and with a groan, she flops up to take a look. The sky gives way to a long stretch of arid land with one single ribbon of green winding its way through. The Doctor slings an arm around her shoulders. "You see? Told you I could find them. Easy."_

_He stretches out a long pinstriped leg and points with his foot to a little dark blob blooming off the side of the river—a small colony of humans. "All that space, all that land, but if you want to find the people, follow the river."_

_Rose lays her head on his shoulder. "You think you're so impressive," she says, pulling the lollipop out first._

"_I am so impressive!" objects a Northern voice, and when she looks up, his eyes are lingering on her mouth. _

_She sticks her tongue out at him, bright blue just like the eyes he rolls. _

"_Don't get anything sticky on the console," he admonishes, but he doesn't really mean it. She can tell._

_She settles back down on the grating, the whole sky her blanket. "You're not my father."_

_A sort-of brown voice chuckles. "No," he says, a London accent now, as he slides his hand up her leg. "I'm not."_

_He is leaning over her, brown eyes warm and inviting, and for all that they're supposed to be just friends, it seems like the most natural thing in the world to arch up to kiss him. He's just out of reach, but she can't quite clear those last few inches; his hand is on her sternum, pushing her down. _

"_Doctor," she whispers. "Have I lost?"_

_His weight is bearing down on her chest as he moves in closer to place the words against her lips. _

"_Follow the river, Rose."_

"I am," she mutters as she staggers along. "It's just going in circles."

The pain in her chest flairs, strong enough to make her momentarily lucid. The branch that she's using as a walking stick has gotten stuck in the underbrush, and the other end is jabbing her in the ribs. She tugs it free and pauses for a moment to catch her breath and to listen for the sound of the river.

It's there, just off to her right, and she sighs with relief. She can't afford to lose track of it—the river is her lifeline and her only chance of finding someone who can help her. Without it, she could wander lost in these woods forever.

Well, not _forever_, but that is a possibility that she doesn't want to consider. It already feels as though she's been walking for days.

As she grits her teeth and pushes onward, painstakingly making her way along the riverbank, she tries again to remember how she ended up in this horrible forest.

They had been on Earth, to drop off the wash at her mum's, oh, and then they had decided to go Poosh. They'd landed and…gone for a walk? There was a building, maybe?

Her head is killing her. Her eyes are…

No. No, don't think about that.

Focus on trying to remember. They had gone to Poosh. Oh, and then something had happened. Something bad. The Doctor yelling, something about a family, a group of hunters, and they had to run…

A wave of nausea sweeps over her. There's nothing left in her stomach, but it leaves her dizzy nonetheless. She clutches her stick and starts walking again.

Have to keep walking.

Have to…

And her mind drifts away into the twilight.

The next time she comes around, it is because she has tripped over log and smacked her shin against a rock. It hurts enough to make her sightless eyes water, which precipitates a whole new level of pain. Her face feels hot, feverish, and she is terribly thirsty.

For one horrible moment, she can't hear the river. When she manages to quiet her own frantic breathing, she hears it. It's a ways off, though, and she shudders at the thought of losing it.

With some effort, she manages to pick her way across the rough landscape to the river's edge. She tentatively makes her way around a small, bushy tree to a spot where she can kneel at the water's edge. With shaking hands, she scoops up water to drink. It tastes a little earthy but not bad.

She's only about ninety percent sure that it actually _is_ water, but she's not even certain which planet she's on, so who knows? It feels like Earth—the gravity, the way the air and dirt smell, the feel of the plants, the sounds of the birds—but she knows that traveling in the TARDIS means that's no guarantee.

It's terrifying.

Even more frightening is the part of her that wants to give up, the part that wants to lie down and weep in pain and exhaustion. To go to sleep and never wake up.

No. She grits her teeth and pushes to her feet.

The Doctor must be out there, somewhere. He will find her—he can make her better. Or maybe he's hurt and needs help. Maybe he needs her. Either way, it's time to start walking again. For hours.

And hours. And hours.

The temperature drops. Fever-sweat turns into an ice bath, and she shivers uncontrollably. Hours pass by in a fog. There's nothing left to guide her, nothing to smell or hear or feel. She is lost, alone and undone, one of the empty ones on the edges of forever.

When she finally falls, the ground is a welcoming mercy.

._._._.

A hand. Tugging.

"Up, up, up," a voice sing-songs.

Warmth on her face.

"Doctor," she says. Thinks she says.

"Bell's ringing, time to go." Tug, tug. A nervous laugh. "Off we go to school. Don't want to be late."

The words don't make any sense, don't settle properly in her brain, but the hand pulling her up? That she knows how to follow. With help, she staggers to her feet.

An arm creeps shyly around her waist. "Little feet, little feet, one at a time. One, two. One, two."

Is she dancing? Late for the ball again, better blame the great big dress. Shoes pinch. Corset on too tight, and her ribs hurt.

The Doctor will make it better.

"Almost to the tiny houses," the voice assures her.

"_Isaac! Isaac!"_

"_Who is she? What has happened?"_

Hands supporting her. Voices, filled with alarm.

"_Oh my, she's in a bad way." _

"_Isaac found her, near the edge of the forest!"_

"_Was it them? Are they coming?"_

"_Someone fetch the doctor!" _

Noise and confusion. Under her feet, the turf changes from grass to hard-packed dirt.

A man's voice, close by, speaking urgently and low. _"_Where did you come from? How did you get here?"

"The Doctor," she mutters. "I need the Doctor."

Someone, a woman, assures her, "We'll bring him, don't you worry."

"_Quickly, take her to Miss Redfern!"_

She starts to fade again as she is helped up a few steps, creaky and wooden. All around her, voices are talking talking talking. Then gentler hands guide her, bring her into a room smelling of smoke and beeswax, and the noise fades away.

"The Doctor," she tries to say.

"He's coming," says a quiet voice close by. "I am Miss Redfern, his assistant. Mary…"

"Yes, ma'am," a girl's voice answers.

"Fetch me hot water from the kettle and a flannel, please. We must get her cleaned up before he arrives."

Footsteps moving away. The hands begin to remove the ragged remains of her clothing, and Rose is too tired to resist. The footsteps return, and there's a gasp—someone's frightened.

"S'alright," Rose slurs, half-awake. "It'll be alright."

"The bruises! Miss Redfern, she's black and blue!"

"That's enough, Mary. Go fetch a second pail and then come help hold her up. Quick, now!"

Carefully, gingerly, she is bathed, the mud and grime painstakingly washed away. She cries out when they wipe the flannel over her ribs. When it is brought up to her face, she shrieks and fights and has to be held to a chair in a tight grip while her eyes are cleaned.

Once it is done, she sits and weeps brokenly. "There now, there now," the quiet voice soothes while another pair of hands wraps her still-filthy hair up in a cloth. Something is pulled over her head—a nightgown, rough and starchy.

"Lie down now," the woman's voice directs softly. "Mary will bring you a little water. The doctor's just washing up, but he'll be here in a moment."

When the cup is brought to her lips, she drinks. Swallowing, she hears low voices just outside the room. And one of them is…

"Doctor," she cries, sitting up and stretching out a hand as relief rushes through her. "Doctor."

Footsteps. Miss Redfern is speaking. "She seems to be looking for you in particular. Her face is quite injured, but…do you recognize her?"

There is a long moment of silence, and then the voice speaks, so familiar that her fingers stretch in anticipation. "No." There is a heavy pause. His name dies on her lips. "No, I don't believe I've ever seen her before."

Her fingers desperately grasp at the air once before her hand falls limply to her side. A buzzing fills her ears.

Why is the bed wobbling?

Her stomach protests the movement, and she starts to dry heave.

_"Oh- she's about to go d-"_


	3. girl, you have no faith in medicine

**A/N: Coauthored by HelplesslyNerdy (on Tumblr/Tsp) and myself.**

Whistling. The tune is familiar but too cheery.

Rose's eyelids flutter open to...nothing. She tries to sit up and sucks in a breath. Her head feels like it has been held in a vice. With the sharp pain has come clarity, however. More than she's had since she woke up in this nightmare.

The Doctor is here, but says he doesn't remember her.

The soft clip of heels pass her, and the whistling stops. "Oh, you're awake." The voice that sounded like...Miss Redfern breezed in. "I'll go fetch the doctor for you."

Her voice sounded American, now that she thought about it. They must have crashed somewhere in the States. She knows she needs to wait until she and the Doctor are alone before questioning him. Something must be terribly wrong.

A familiar voice starts from another room and nears hers. "Ah! The mysterious girl awakes." She worries the frayed sleeve of her nightgown to keep from reaching out to him again. "You have had the entire village quite beside itself. Not many visitors around these parts. Especially ones that seem to know of me!"

"Sorry. Must have mixed you up with someone else. My head is a little muddled."

"Of course. It is to be expected." She can't help how her head cocks to the side. His voice sounds so affected, so stilted. "I am going to examine you now, Miss-?"

"T-tyler." Her eyes slide shut. She knew better than to use her own name.

"Miss Tyler." He rolls the name around slowly, but quickly asks, "Do you remember anything of what happened to you?"

If the hunters were still after them, she didn't want them to find the crashed TARDIS. No telling if the ship was capable of protecting herself. "No. I just woke up and couldn't see. Was in a lot of pain."

"But you do remember your name. If there is amnesia, at least it is limited." Rose hears the creak of the floorboards near the bed she is on. "Nurse Redfern here will be tending to your other injuries as they are not as severe. I will be as gentle as possible, but I need to examine your eyes now that you're up and can move them for me. Nurse Redfern, could you go and get my herbal kit, please?" Rose hears the rustle of cloth and a door opening and shutting as the nurse leaves the room.

She relaxes. They are finally alone. Need to find out why the Doctor is putting on the act.

She feels his cool fingertips tilt her face up. "Keep still. Didn't get a chance to check your head as thoroughly as I needed." He pulls her hair free of the cloth, hands are now probing her scalp. She flinches as he finds a particular tender spot. "Ah. Contusion. You most likely have concussed your brain. I was told you were found passed out in the woods. If you came out of that, I knew that we need not worry about you sleeping. Got to let the synapses heal. Actually, we should probably get you some tea..."

His fingers glide towards her face again, stopping near the edges of her eyes. She flinches back, anticipating the pain.

"I am sorry. I am so sorry, but I need to see if your eyes are permanently damaged." She bites her lip as his fingers lift to pull back her eyelids. She clenches the quilt covering her lap in her fists, her entire body trembling. She tries to stifle her whimpers. He is mercifully quick, and his hands leave her face as she feels his weight shift away from the bed.

"Well, Miss Tyler, it seems as if your face was burned. Your eyes look undamaged, but that is not the case for the surrounding tissue."

She swallows. "How bad?"

Taking her hand, he again sits on her bed. "It will heal. But you will probably have scars."

Her chest constricts. How would she explain this to her mum?She dreads the answer to the next question, but she has to know. "And m-my sight?"

His hand lightly squeezes hers, but not in their familiar way- more with a detached sympathy. "That I am not sure of. Since it seems like the eye itself was undamaged, it might be a result of your concussion. But there is no way for me to gauge whether it will come back or not."

She feels herself nodding, but her mind is running rampant.

Why hasn't he assured her of their situation? Where's the sonic? He would have scanned her the second that the nurse had left the room. Since the Cassandra escapade, they had always used memories or inside jokes as a check for possession or danger. Most consciousnesses could only access surface thoughts, not long-term memories. But today wasn't a time to kid.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Miss Tyler?"

"The very first word you ever said to me, such a long time ago, what was it?"

Silence.

His hand slowly slips from hers.

She can't get air into her lungs.

"I'm sure you're terrified, Miss Tyler." She hears his callouses catching on the short hairs of his neck. Tears begin to fall hot on her cheeks, the salt making her eyes burn. "And the natural thing for someone in your position to do is to reach out for something or some_one_ familiar. But I assure you, we've never met before."

His voice sounds muffled and farther away.

Head hurts so much.

Maybe everything is much clearer because this is another dream.

She'll wake up, and the Doctor will be there, bouncing on the balls of his feet, itching to drag her out of bed on to their next adventure.

Maybe if she just wakes up...


	4. there's no home for you here

**A/N: Coauthored by HelplesslyNerdy (on Tumblr/Tsp) and myself.**

_The TARDIS corridors are longer than usual. Maybe she's cranky today._

_Flash of light._

_The Doctor's so close to her, so close she has to cross her eyes to see him. "This is me!" He holds up something metallic and small. Why can't she see it?_

_Back in the corridors. She hears a primal scream. "Doctor!" She runs- this hall keeps going, going, going-_

_She's in the console room finally. The Doctor is wearing a metal helmet, kind of like the bald guy from X-Men. Shouting and shaking. He falls to his knees._

"_Doctor!"_

_He waves her back, panicking. "No, Rose, don't!"_

_The light hurts as she flies back. Why does the light hurt?_

"_Rooooose!"_

She bolts upright, gulping in air.

Just a dream. But…part of it seemed real. They had been running from the hunters, and the Doctor had said something about changing. If only she could remember.

Still can't see. What if the Doctor doesn't come back? What if this is perma-

Can't think that way now.

He's come through in tight spots before, though she is hard pressed to think of any tighter.

What is that smell? Her hands fly up to her face, feeling a cloth holding some foul-odored pouches to her eyes. Stifling the childish urge to rip it off, she tries to assess her surroundings.

Birds are outside twittering. She can feel the warmth of the sun on her face. Must be morning. The floorboards squeak outside her room as a couple pairs of feet move. Grimacing at the soreness in her limbs, she swings her own feet over the side of the bed. She gasps as her feet touch the cold, unfinished wood.

After stubbing her toes a few times trying to navigate the room, she creates a system of tentatively pointing her toes out before throwing all of her weight into a step. She reaches the wall opposite the bed and finds the door. Fumbling for the knob, she tentatively opens the door and steps out. She slides her hand along the wood paneling of the wall, steadying herself. No one seems to be immediately outside her door.

"Hello?" She continues along, until her hand reaches a corner. As she turns around it, her toes catch on a rug, and she starts to fall forward. Suddenly, someone catches her around the waist, and her hands land on a man's chest, grasping at a starched cotton shirt.

"Steady on, now!" The Doctor. Or the not- Doctor. His hands haven't yet left her waist, as her hands twitch on his chest. Only one heartbeat.

One…heartbeat.

"_I have to become human. I have to hide!"_

She gasps a little as the memory comes back, but the Doctor takes it as her realizing their rather intimate proximity and quickly steps back. Her mind races. He had said he probably wouldn't remember her, but that the TARDIS should take care of her. Well, the TARDIS had crashed.

The Doctor cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present. "Are you all right, Miss Tyler?"

"I believe so, yes. Just wanted some water." She says, smoothing the front of her nightgown to give her hands something to do.

"Right. Here, I'll bring you whatever you need. Let's get you back to your room." She feels his fingers brush the side of her hand hesitantly before deciding to rest on her elbow. He navigates her back to her bed, not letting go until she is seated. "Was there something else you needed besides water?"

A rumble of her stomach answers his question. He laughs. Not the giggle or the head-thrown-back guffaw she was used to, but a very nervous, restrained one. She realizes she is frowning at him when he clears his throat again.

"Right, well. I'm a bit rubbish at cooking and Nurse Redfern is tending one of the Baker children down the way. But I could make up some toast?"

She tries to put on her most gracious smile. "Sounds lovely."

A short smack of his hands- probably against his thighs. "I'll get to that, then." She hears his footsteps leaving.

"Doctor?"

He stops. "Yes?"

"What's your name?"

"I'm so sorry. Terribly rude of me. I'm accustomed to people calling me 'Doctor,' but my name's Smith. John Smith."

"Not very imaginative." She grins at him.

A long pause. She hopes she hasn't offended him. He then chuckles softly, "I suppose not."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After what she gauges is about a half-hour, and several instances of smelling burning bread, his quick step announces his returning.

"And here we go." She felt a tray being shifted onto her lap. "A few slices of toast with marmalade."

He hands Rose a spoon. She reaches forward tentatively and after bumping the plate, she grasps the small glass jar. "Wait," she says, spoon mid-air.

"Do you need help with spreading the jam?"

"No," she shakes her head. "I think I've got it. I just want to make sure that you haven't been eating out of the jar with your fingers."

Silence, then spluttering. She almost hears his face redden.

"That is a fresh jar."

She can't help but grin at how he sounds like a little boy caught in the act. "You didn't even take a little bit off the top?"

He huffs. "All right, I took a little bit off the top once with my very clean hands. Though I'm bewildered at how you knew."

"Oh, I've been around doctors before. Seems to be a running thing."

"You're a nurse, then?"

"No, no. Just friends with them."

"Ah." She hears him pull up a chair nearer to her bed. "So where are you from, Miss Tyler?"

"Rose. Please just call me Rose."

"A tad informal, but since you're the patient. You can call me John, if you wish."

"I think 'Doctor' suits you better."

"Indeed," he says happily before crunching into his own toast. She tries not to grimace with how much sugar he put in her tea.

"So, _Rose_," he rolls the 'r' softly, "How did you come to be in our woods?"

"I don't know," she says truthfully. "I don't remember."

"Where are you from?"

"London, originally. Been traveling some lately." She chews her toast slowly before asking her own question. "What about you? I don't recall Americans sounding like that."

"No, you're right, I'm from near London. An estate. Powell, it was. Yes."

The piece of toast she was bringing towards her mouth hangs in midair. "O-oh?"

"You are familiar with it, then?"

"Yes. You could say that." Oh, she was going to tease him mercilessly once this whole ordeal was over. She swallows thickly. It's just figuring out what to do between now and then…

"Do you remember if you were attacked? We have…some issues with animals in the woods."

"I don't remember." What if the hunters had followed them? She didn't even remember what they looked like. What if they had been preying on this village? She still wasn't even sure what time period she was in, but couldn't figure out a way to ask without sounding completely mental. She hopes he will play it off as being a result of the head injury. "Um, I know this is going to sound a bit odd, but what year is this?"

A pause. "It's the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventy-three. Fourteenth of May. Ninth hour, forty-seven minutes, eighteen, no, nineteen seconds.

"Sure you couldn't be more specific?" she teases.

"Well, it's not as if I lord over time itself."

She stifles a laugh.

"Do you know where you are?"

She sips her tea before answering. "No, I'm afraid I don't."

He squeezes the hand resting on her bed. "It is all right, don't worry. It is a completely common occurrence with a head injury."

"You are in our little village in the middle of the territory." Miss Redfern's clipped voice makes them both start, the Doctor withdrawing his hand. "Quite a small place, but we make do. And Doctor? There's a group outside wishing to speak with you."

"Well, better be quick, shall I? I will be back to check up on you, Rose."

"Thank you, Doctor."

The door shuts, and Rose thinks she is alone again.

"The doctor is quite nice, isn't he?"

So Nurse Redfern was still here. "Yes, he seems to be."

"Trifle absentminded, but he's the best I've ever worked under." The nurse is tucking the sheets and blankets at Rose's feet.

Was that admiration, or a little more? "You know him well?"

"I've been working with him daily since he came here two months ago." She scoffs softly. "Could it have been such a short time ago?"

Rose tries to keep from rolling her eyes. Definitely smitten.

But wait.

Two months? The Doctor has been here two months? But the TARDIS couldn't have crashed that long ago.

What if she doesn't figure out how to bring him back? What does she do if he tries to make…permanent connections?

She realizes that she's let her mind wander for too long and asks, "Does he plan on settling here?"

"We can only hope he does." She pushes Rose forward, pulling out the pillows to fluff them. A bit harshly, if Rose were paying particular attention.

"Men like that tend to be travelers." Rose tries to tell herself that she's just trying to make it easier for this woman in the end. Not staking a claim. Nope.

Nurse Redfern clucks her tongue. "Well, I wouldn't know about 'men like that,' but he seems pretty settled."

Best not get on her bad side right off. "I suppose."

"I will go see about getting you some fresh poultices." The quick staccato left her room.

Could this get any worse? The Doctor is, for all intents and purposes, absent, and he's got some poor woman infatuated with him? She can't think about it. Where had he gone? Outside. Group of people. Right.

What would a 'group' need with him?

…

She should probably go check it out.

Nurse Redfern's whistle sounds pretty far away, so hopefully she can get around without being noticed.

Rose tiptoes into the hallway, straining to listen for an indicator of where the Doctor was. There is a rumble of voices to her…left. She walks along, hand against the wall, until the wall ends. Slowly, she reaches out to touch…more wood. Gliding down the wood, she feels the knob of a door. This must be the front door. She puts her ear to the wood, hoping to hear what is going on.

A very young woman says, "…but how could she have survived in the woods? They…they should have killed her."

A man breaks in. "I do not know. Maybe they noticed she couldn't see and took pity on her."

Now an older woman speaks. "Well, whoever she is, what are we going to do with her?"

"Well, she's too ill to go anywhere now." The Doctor's authoritative voice sounded the most like him since she woke up. "The girl has amnesia. She does not know what happened, or what attacked her. She even asked me what year it was! She poses no threat, no danger."

She heard footsteps coming quick behind her. Nurse Redfern! Would there be a closet near the door? Rose scrambles to her right, hoping to not just find more wall. Her hand slides frantically across the paneling until she mercifully finds a knob and jumps behind the door. She is surrounded by a lot of cloth, and she is able to assess that she indeed had made it into a closet. Thankfully with a clear floor. She leaves the door slightly cracked, hoping to still hear.

It sounds like the nurse has left the front door ajar.

A different man speaks up. "So where is she going to stay?"

"Here, of course." The Doctor sounds incredulous.

"Is that proper?" Nurse Redfern asks. Rose's eyes narrow.

"Well, you are here most of the time, Nurse. And I'm a doctor. I would hope that I have proved myself honorable. Besides, I am the newest addition to our little hamlet, and she will need acclimating. To our ways."

"You will still be able to help her, but I feel it would be best that she stays with me." Joan's voice brokers no objectors.

"Very well, then." Rose's heart sinks as the Doctor concedes.

An authoritative voice rings out. "As long as she is able to conform to our ways, I see no trouble. And as her memory comes back, we will…help her accordingly."

There is a rumble of agreement. The conversation seems to start to disperse, so Rose tries to quickly sneak back to her room before they notice. She quickly finds the wall and uses it to guide her back. She rounds the corner, and turns in to the room.

"What are you doing out of bed?"


	5. offend in every way

**A/N: Coauthored by HelplesslyNerdy (on Tumblr/Tsp) and myself.**

"_What are you doing out of bed?"_

Rose startles at the sound of a female voice. It's definitely not Nurse Redfern's, too young, though it does seem vaguely familiar. She reaches her hand out. "Who is it?"

Slim fingers meet hers. "Oh, beg your pardon, Miss, it's Mary. I help Doctor Smith and Nurse Redfern."

"Oh," says Rose as the recognition clicks into place. "Yeah, I remember you now."

"You shouldn't be up and about yet, though," scolds Mary, tugging at her hand to lead her back to her bed. "You need to rest. I've never seen anyone so injured."

"I'm fine, really," protests Rose to no avail as she's pulled along behind the girl. She finds that she's not really up to offering much resistance, so perhaps Mary has a point. Then they go around a corner, and with a dull thunk, her foot connects with a doorframe. She yelps and pulls them both to a halt.

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry," cries Mary. "I didn't think. I'll go slower."

Gently, Rose extracts her hand. "It's alright. Probably easier if I just find my own way, yeah?" They are close, she thinks, trying to get a feel for the layout of the house. She feels her way along the wall and then pauses by the entrance to the bedroom. "You know, I really am feeling much better. Maybe not up for a run, but I probably don't need to be off my feet entirely. And staying in bed's a bit boring, so…"

"Oh, that's why I was coming to find you," says Mary quickly. "You have a visitor. Here, I'll help you into bed and find you a shawl to cover up before I bring him in." She bustles Rose into the room before she has a chance to protest.

The bed creaks as Rose sat down, and she finds with some chagrin that sitting really is a bit of a relief. "Bring who in?" she asks as Mary tucks her legs back under the covers.

"Isaac Murray. He's the one who found you, out by the forest." Mary pauses. "He's a bit…simple, Isaac. But he has a good heart. And really, it's a blessing that he's that way. Not many would be out walking so near the woods."

There is the sound of a squeaky hinge and the thud of what sounds like a trunk lid closing. Then, Mary drapes something over her shoulders. She wraps a second bit of fabric over her head like a kerchief. "There now, that's better. And we'll get you a real bath tonight, if Dr. Smith thinks it safe to get your head wet." She tugs the covers to straighten them. "Nice and proper. I'll go fetch Isaac."

Her footsteps fade away, and a few moments pass in silence. Rose wonders idly if the Doctor will come back as well—she'd really like to know more about the questions that the villagers had asked. Her arrival seems to have ruffled some feathers at least. She'll have to be careful—she can't afford to leave the Doctor alone, not in the state he's in.

And anyway, where would she go? She gives an involuntary shudder at the thought of going back into the forest.

There are more footsteps in the hall, approaching this time.

"Here's Isaac, Miss," says Mary from the doorway. "I'll be in the kitchen, so just call if you need anything."

Mary's steps fade away, but Rose can't hear anyone else. She tips her head to one side. "Hello?"

There is a quiet, sort of wheezy chuckle, and then a man's voice answers shyly. "Hello."

The silence feels a little awkward, and Rose wishes she could see. She has met people from all sorts of places and times and has managed to get along well enough, but she's never realized how much she relies on sight to get a read on a person. "Ah. It's nice to meet you, Isaac. My name's Rose." She pauses, but there's no response. "Thank you for rescuing me."

After a moment, he mumbles, "Brought you pretty things," and she can hear shambling footsteps and the rustle of something being offered. Tentatively she stretches a hand out, and he presses a fistful of flower stems into her palm.

"Oh," she says, taking them. "That's nice of you. Thank you." With her free hand, she feels the clusters of tiny blossoms—some sort of wild flower, she thinks—and then brings them up to her face for a sniff. Well, they smell pretty at least. She smiles. "They're lovely."

He laughs but doesn't say anything.

She fishes for a conversation topic. "So…do you go for walks in the woods often?"

There is a long pause, before he answers softly, "Away from the houses."

Rose nods. "Nice to get away sometimes, yeah?"

"All the loud words," he says but doesn't elaborate.

Rose nods, trying to imagine what living with a mental disability must be like in 1873. "Maybe sometime you can take me there," she suggests, thinking that sooner or later, she's going to need to find the TARDIS. Plus, she has the feeling that Isaac might be a more willing source of information than some of the villagers.

He makes that sound again—laughing under his breath—and Rose has the impression that he's about to speak when they hear the sound of footsteps in the hall, and Isaac goes quiet.

"Ah, a visitor, I see." It's the Doctor. Dr. Smith.

"Isaac was nice enough to bring me some flowers," says Rose, lifting the bouquet for emphasis.

"That was kind of him. But Isaac," he says, sterner now, "your mother is calling for you. You'd best hurry along—you shouldn't worry her so."

Beside the bed, Rose can hear Isaac stand. "Thanks for coming by," she says with a smile. "And for the flowers."

There's a bit of a pause, and she could swear that she can hear his mouth working, trying to find the words. And then, there's a soft, "Welcome." With quiet footsteps, he departs.

"You're good at that," comments the Doctor as he steps forward into the room. Rose can hear the slight rattling sound of something being lowered to her bedside. A tray, she decides as she feels the edge of it against her leg. "Good at talking with people. I believe I'd been here a month before I was able to get that young man to speak to me at all."

Rose shrugs. "It's not really anything. I've just talked to a lot of people, I suppose."

"Hmm." There is the sound of a chair being drawn over to the side of the bed. "Perhaps that's it. I have to change your poultices now. Lean forward, please, and I'll unwrap the bandages."

Rose unties the cloth wrapping on her head as she complies. "So what was that all about? The group who wanted to see you?"

"Hmm? Oh." The Doctor sounds distracted as he gets to work. "Nothing, really. Some of the villagers had questions about where you'd come from, that's all. There were just a few…concerns."

"Concerns about what?" It comes out quicker than she'd intended, and she tries to school her features into casual indifference.

"Just whether you were healing and where you will stay. Where you're from. How you've come to be in our little town."

"I don't remember," Rose answers quickly.

"So I told them," he replies, as the bandages fall away. "But as I may have mentioned before, visitors are quite…unusual here."

"How did you get here, then? Nurse Redfern said you'd been here only two months."

"I came in answer to a specific advertisement," he tells her, and his voice seems sharper. "The village elders requested a doctor, one who would be familiar with rustic medicine, as supplies from the outside are difficult to obtain."

"You saw an advert for this job in London?"

"Hmm? No. No, I was in Boston at the time." The last of the bandages fall away. "I was…traveling around for a bit. Now be still and keep your eyes closed. I will remove the poultices slowly."

She does as he asks but can't keep herself from hissing as the pouches are pulled away from the burns on her face. The Doctor, however, makes a pleased sound.

"You are healing well," he remarks, and she hears him fiddling with something on the tray. A moment later, he grasps her by the chin with one hand. "Hold still. I need to clean the skin around your eyes. Remember to keep them closed."

He must be very close—she can feel his breath on her face, and she's suddenly conscious of the fact that her own breath must be horrible. He doesn't seem to mind, though, judging by the way his thumb is just barely stroking her jaw. The sensation makes her cheeks heat up a little, and she hopes she's not blushing too noticeably.

He brings a soft, wet flannel to her face. It smells a bit like tea, and she only just stops herself from asking if he's treating her injuries with PG tips. Then he starts washing the raw flesh, and she's forced to grip the mattress to keep from pulling away.

When she can't quite stifle a whimper, he apologizes. "I'm sorry. I have to be thorough to prevent sepsis."

"S'alright," she says through clenched teeth. "Just get it done." To distract herself from the pain, she asks, "So why did you leave London?"

He sighs. "It's…complicated." When she doesn't say anything, he adds, "I left because staying would have meant harming someone. A…a woman for whom I cared very much." He sets the flannel down, and Rose sighs in relief. "It was years ago. Not important anymore. And after that, I traveled for quite awhile. But I am old news by now. Everyone is more interested on how you found your way here."

"And I've told you, I really don't remember. But," she continues quickly before he has a chance to question that further, "I mean, if they're worried about me fitting in, you can tell them not to worry. I'll follow the rules, keep out of people's way. I won't cause trouble, I promise."

He pats her hand. "No need to worry. The people here are kindly, and though your arrival was unexpected, but you are not unwelcome here."

It's not exactly an overwhelming statement of acceptance. Rose shifts uneasily on the bed. "If you think it's alright, I'd love to spend some time outside. It'd keep me from being underfoot."

She can hear him fussing with things on the tray, tidying up. "Another few days should see you on your feet, but it'd be difficult for you to navigate the village by yourself."

"I thought maybe Isaac could take me for walks," she suggests. "That is, if he is willing and has the time and all that."

"Well. I suppose that is one possible solution. Although…" He hesitates a moment. "I would be happy to guide you. If you like. I do enjoy a good walk, and I am frequently out in the gardens and the fields, cataloging the different species of flora."

Rose nods, her smile growing. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Well, then, it's all settled." She can tell from his voice he's happy. She can practically _see_ him smiling. "You shouldn't be cooped up in here."

"Definitely." She is grinning now. "Maybe I can even give you a hand."

"Perhaps." He sounds a little skeptical, but Rose doesn't care. It feels like the Doctor's back, and it's just such a relief.

He pats her hand again. "I wouldn't want you to feel as though you had to spend all your time in the company of a dullard."

The word slips by so quickly that Rose is certain she heard him wrong. The Doctor would never… "A…a what? What do you mean?"

"An idiot," he replies without hesitation. "A simpleton. Isaac," he clarifies when she can't do anything but frown. "Surely you've noticed that he is mentally deficient. Were we in a larger town, he would probably be in an asylum. Here, though, his mother is forced to keep him. I understand that he's able to do a few simple chores, of course, but he's hardly fit company for you."

He says the last word so warmly, in such a low, pleasant tone. It's clearly intended as a flirtation, and it ought to be running through her veins like fire. Instead, she recoils. If there's one thing Rose is sure of, it's that the Doctor—the _real_ Doctor—wouldn't callously disregard the value of another person like this.

All at once, it's like he's a stranger.

"You…you shouldn't say that," she admonishes, sitting up straighter. Pulling away from him.

"What, that he's not fit company?" He sounds amused. "But he's not. I suppose he's not a bad sort, but surely, you would rather have the companionship of someone more your equal?"

"Stop saying things like that," she nearly shouts. Tears are threaten at the corners of her still-shut eyes, making them burn. If anyone else from this time had spoken this way, she would have taken it in stride, but for _him_ to do it… She clenches her hands into fists.

"I'm sorry," he says, sounding sincere. "I've upset you. I did not intend to cause offense."

"That doesn't matter," she argues, horribly frustrated because he's still missing the point. "It's not about me, is it? It's about the way you treat people. All people. You can't just shrug someone off as useless because they have a…a disability."

He is quiet for a long moment.

She had been so sure that she'd sensed the Doctor in there somewhere, dipping his fingers in jam jars and talking of the Powell Estate. It had seemed like he was just wearing the mask, something made of temporary and unimportant details. But the man who valued humans and aliens and pigs in space suits and vats of living plastic alike wouldn't speak this way, and she suddenly feels so alone. One traitorous tear slips past her lashes and stings the raw flesh of her cheek.

"There now, don't cry," he says softly. "I am sorry. I promise to think on what you have said."

Taking a deep breath, Rose collects herself. "Thank you." She just has to remember that John Smith is not the Doctor, however much he might seem like him. This is a different time and a different morality, and Dr. Smith, whatever he is, is a product of that culture. She tries to offer him a bit of a smile.

"That's better." He's relieved, she can tell. "Now, are you ready to finish the exam?"

"Can I open my eyes?"

"One moment." He stands up and crosses the room to fetch something. When he returns, Rose can smell the scent of candle wax, stronger than before. "Alright. Slowly open your eyes."

With some effort, she lifts her swollen eyelids and blinks.

"Can you see the candle? Any light at all?"

She can't.

…

It's alright, though. The Doctor will fix it when he comes back.

The proper Doctor.


	6. we're going to be friends

**A/N: Coauthored by HelplesslyNerdy (on Tumblr/Tsp) and myself. And yeah, there might be a teensy bit of a movie au in there. Maybe. If you squint.**

Rose is moved into the spare bedroom in Nurse Redfern's house. It's a tiny space up on the second story, quite warm at the end of the day, and Rose has some concerns about getting up and down the narrow staircase. Nonetheless, she really can't complain—everyone has been really nice. Several people come to call on her while she recuperates, and no one ever objects to having an extra mouth to feed, especially one who can't contribute.

The women of the settlement scrounge up some clothing for her—dresses, a nightgown, a pair of boots, and some underthings that Rose already knows are going to leave her completely baffled. Luckily, Mary agrees to help her with some of the more tricky bits.

There is an uncomfortable meeting with someone named Elder Brahme shortly after she's settled in. He asks, no, _grills_ her about her origins. Rose answers as best she can, playing up her head injury as much as possible. She doesn't know enough about this time to have a good story handy, and she definitely doesn't want anyone to go poking around in the woods looking for answers—who knows if the TARDIS is in any state to protect itself. Not that it seems very likely that they would. Nobody says much, but Rose definitely gets the impression that the woods are off-limits.

The conversation ends with Elder Brahme announcing, with no small amount of reluctance, that she can stay. For the time being, at least. As long as she behaves herself.

Rose breathes a sigh of relief and vows to do as little as possible to rock the boat. Like pushing twenty-first century ideas on a nineteenth century man—ugh, she already regrets that conversation with Dr. Smith. It's not that she thinks she was wrong, definitely not, but her reaction was less about her outrage at hearing that sort of thing in this time period and more the result of those words come out of the Doctor's mouth in particular.

He hasn't come by to see her in three days.

Rose is trying hard not to think about that.

In the meantime, Nurse Redfern tends to her injuries and changes her bandages. She seems competent and efficient, and they get on well enough as long as they both studiously avoid the topic of John Smith. The one time that Rose tentatively asks after him, Nurse Redfern says something about a rash of childhood fever cases in the village and quickly changes the subject.

Mary proves to be a better source of information. She happily chatters on about Dr. Smith, at least when Nurse Redfern isn't there to tell her to hold her tongue. Apparently, his arrival was quite the event, and Mary confirms, much to Rose's puzzlement, that he did move to the little village just a little over two months ago.

It makes absolutely no sense, and Rose can't wrap her head around it at all. The events leading up to her arrival are still fuzzy, but she's sure she wasn't in the woods for months at a time, and she can't think of any other reason for the time gap. She's pretty sure things didn't quite go as planned, though—if only she could remember what the plan actually was. In her more desperate moments in the night, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, Rose is overcome with fear that she's in the wrong place entirely. Maybe John Smith isn't the Doctor at all, and this is all just some sort of horrible mistake or a parallel world or something. A trick or a dream or virtual reality—anything is possible.

Most of the time, she tries not to think about all of that, too.

In any case, she can only work with what she's got, and that's John Smith, ostensibly the Doctor disguised as a human. Rose has no idea how he changed species, no idea how long they are supposed to be in hiding, and no idea how to change him back, and the only thing she can think of is to try to convince him to come with her to the TARDIS in hopes that there will be some sort of solution available in the ship. That is, assuming she can even find it.

And assuming Dr. Smith ever speaks to her again.

On the fourth day of his absence, Rose decides that she's had enough and that she's going to track him down even if she has to do it on her hands and knees. Hopefully, though, it won't come to that; as soon as Mary comes back from her errands, Rose is going to do her best to enlist her aid as a guide.

She is in the little sitting room on the ground floor of Nurse Redfern's house, waiting, when she hears sound of footsteps on the porch, and her heart speeds up. That's not Mary. She'd know those footsteps anywhere. It's the Doctor.

_John Smith_, she reminds herself firmly.

There is a knock, and she calls for him to come in. The door creaks as he opens it, and he walks the short distance to the sitting room entrance.

"Rose." She can hear him shifting in place, shuffling his feet.

"Dr. Smith."

"Ah." There is an audible wince in his voice at her use of his name, and she remembers that he said he prefers to be called Doctor. (_Well, tough, _she thinks.) "Hello."

She raises a hand to do the little half-wave she does with the Doctor before she can stop herself. "Hello. Um. Please come in." She waves a hand to where she's fairly sure there's some sort of settee, close to her own chair.

The settee creaks as he takes a seat. "How have you been feeling? Any better?"

"Yeah, better." She bites a thumbnail. "Still can't see, though."

There is a moment of silence. "I'm sorry. We mustn't give up hope, though."

Rose just shrugs because there's nothing really to say.

"I'm sorry that I haven't been by to check on you; I've had a number of patients take ill. Fortunately, Miss Redfern is more than capable enough to stand in my stead, and she's told me that you've been healing well. In fact, I don't think you'll be needed the poultices anymore."

Rose nods.

"But that's not why I've come to visit you today. I just wanted you to know…" He pauses, and there's a shuffling noise of him shifting on the settee, moving closer to her. After a moment, his warm hand takes hers. "I just wanted you to know that I've considered what you said at our last meeting."

"Oh," says Rose, not quite sure what to say to that.

"And…you were right. It was wrong of me to dismiss the worth of a fellow man like that. I have taken pains when I could over the last few days to observe Isaac at his work, and I have seen him be both careful and thorough." He stops again, swallows. "I just wanted you to know that."

"Thank you," she says, pleasantly surprised. It's an odd thing—she can't remember the Doctor ever apologizing quite like this, so it's just another difference between them—unsettling, but not bad. Definitely not bad.

Dr. Smith continues. "I think you're well enough to be up and about, for a little while at least. You'll still need help, of course, so I took the liberty of asking Isaac to walk with you today." He pauses for a breath. "I hope that's alright."

"Yeah," she answers quickly, smiling. "Yeah, that'd be lovely."

"And in the future, if you'll allow me," he says in a rush, "I'd be happy to accompany you myself. I'm afraid I won't be able to join you just yet—I still have a number of patients who are bedridden—but once the fever runs its course…that is, of course, if you are amenable."

He sounds so nervous, and the tone is so familiar—_why, don't you want to come?—_that it's easy to squeeze his hand in forgiveness. "I'd like that."

And it's worth it to hear the smile in his voice. "Good. I'd…I'd like us to be friends."

"Friends," she agrees, patting his hand before pulling hers free. Yeah, she can do that. Being friends is good.

As long as she can remember that he's not really the Doctor.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Over the next several days, Rose is able to make some short trips outside, and she finds that a lot can be learned about a person by how they lead. Joan Redfern is extremely conscientious, if a little brusque, with little to no small talk. Mary is to be avoided at all costs—nothing but small talk, and Rose is guaranteed to stub her toe or crash into a wall at least twice. The Doc—no…Dr. Smith is not bad, but he too sometimes gets distracted, either by a fascinating conversation topic or occasionally, she thinks, by her. (In that instance, though, he's the one to walk face-first into a wall.)

Surprisingly, Isaac is probably the best of all of them—the most careful and the most patient. As an added benefit, he has the most free time and seems happy to spend it walking with her. Rose gets the feeling that he's lonely. He comes by nearly every morning and likes to stand under her window, tossing pebbles at the glass until she agrees to come down.

One afternoon, they take a long walk in the fields. Rose is thrilled to be out—the air is sweet, the birds are singing, and honestly, it's nice to have a chance to get away from the rest of the townsfolk. As kind as they are, it's grating to constantly receive that much sympathy. Isaac makes for good company, especially since he doesn't expect much in the way of conversation, and he never offers her pity.

When they reach the edge of the little river, he finds a place for her to sit comfortably on a broad, flat rock and then runs up and down the riverbank, finding flowers and rocks and other interesting things to place into her hands.

As she waits for him to come back with his latest prize, Rose plays with the brim of her straw hat, experimenting with the different sensations of sunlight and shade on her face. She's pretty sure she's heard that when sight is gone, the other senses grow sharper. Testing herself with the sounds, the smells, the textures around her, she decides that it's not really true—more that in the absence of vision, she just pays more attention to the information from her ears, nose, and skin.

Adjusting her hat so that it covers her face, she lies back on the rock, spreading her hands flat against the warm stone. If the Doctor were here, she thinks with a sigh, he'd be lying right beside her, telling her about the history of the valley or the flight patterns of bees or that time he caught a fish _this big_…or anything, really. Or maybe they'd be holding hands, looking for shapes in the clouds (because of course, if he were here, she'd be able to see). And as an added bonus, they'd probably be spread out on his coat—a welcome layer between her back and the rock.

She flexes her empty fingers with a sigh. She really misses that coat. Its occupant, too.

As she hears the sound of footsteps through the tall grass, she picks her hat up off her face and waves it. "Don't worry, Isaac. 'M still here. What've you found?"

"Ah, Rose! Hello." It's Dr. Smith.

Rose sits up quickly and loses her grip on the brim of her hat. As it leaves her fingers, it gets caught by the wind and goes spiraling off to places unknown. "Oh, shoot!"

"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. Well, not to worry," says Dr. Smith heartily, moving away from her. "I'll fetch it for you. It hasn't gone far afield—just perched in the arms of this lovely little oak tree. The work of a moment to get it down, really."

There are some scuffling noises, and something that sounds suspiciously like a curse word. Then Rose hears a series of loud scrapes followed by the violent shaking of a tree limb. She tilts her head, frowning. "You alright?" It suddenly occurs to her that if he breaks his neck climbing a tree as a human, he might not be able to heal or regenerate. "Be careful!"

"Yes! Yes!" he grunts. "Almost…got it…there!"

There's a thump—for better or worse, he's back down on the ground. Rose's forehead creases in alarm, but there's no need. All is well, and soon, he's standing in front of her. "Your hat, milady." He places it in her hands.

"Thanks." She puts it back on, careful to make sure it's shading her face. "So, what're you doing out here? Are those kids feeling better?"

"Much. Everyone's on the mend. I thought I'd try to get a little fresh air while I had the chance." He pauses a moment, and when he speaks again, he sounds a bit hesitant. "You're not all by yourself, are you?"

"No, 'course not." Rose shakes her head at him before giving Isaac a shout. A moment later, she can hear him running toward them through the grass. "Isaac's been great." Turning toward the sound of approaching footsteps, she asks, "What'd you find?"

"Frog," Isaac pants. Then he claps his hands to show that they're empty. "Hopped away."

"Ah." Rose suppresses a shudder. "That's alright. Maybe next time."

"Well," says Dr. Smith. "I thought I'd try to walk down the riverbank. Would you two care to join me?"

After Rose assents and Isaac shyly agrees, they walk along the little river before crossing an old bridge, the timbers creaking under their feet. Isaac, freed from his responsibility, runs ahead, so Dr. Smith carefully guides her along the rough path on the opposite bank. As they go, he describes the fields and flowers and little trees with great care, making them sound charming and lovely. He never talks about the forest or the hills beyond, though. The omission is enough to pique her curiosity.

"Is this the only river around here?" she asks, interrupting his lecture on the feeding habits of the ruby throated warbler.

"Yes, just the one. It opens up into a little lake down at the eastern end of the settlement, just big enough for rowing. It's a lovely spot. I'll take you there sometime, if you like."

"Yeah, that'd be nice." She waits just a moment before adding, "I think I remember following the river when I was lost in the forest." There, she's said it—the f-word.

When he answers, the happy ease of his voice is gone. "Do you?"

"Yeah."

There is a long pause, and she can picture the way his face must look, the way his eyebrows draw together when he's concerned about something. When he answers, though, his voice is deliberately light. "It's fortunate you were able to find it. Without the river for a guide, you might have wandered in circles. Oh, there goes one of the warblers now! Did I tell you about the way they call their mates?"

Rose refuses to be sidetracked. "It's just that, if I followed the river, I must have come out of the forest near here, yeah? Is that right, Isaac?" she asks in a louder voice, but there's no answer—he must be out of earshot.

Dr. Smith sighs. "We are still a fair distance from the edge of the woods. But yes, I imagine you were found near where the river crosses the tree line. Perhaps a little ways within the woods if Isaac was foolish enough to stray into them. It is very lucky that he found you when he did."

"Why?" she presses. "What is in the woods?"

There is a long silence. "I'm not sure we should be discussing this, but… Well, I suppose you need to know. The Elders weren't sure if you should be told at all, but I think we can trust your discretion, and forewarned is forearmed, after all." He pauses again, uncertain. "It will sound a bit…odd."

"It's alright, you can tell me," she says, purposely angling her face toward his. "I won't think you're crazy or anything. Promise."

"I won't hold you to it. The story is quite…incredible." He takes a deep breath. "You may recall that I once said that visitors are unusual here. That was something of an understatement. In fact, visitors are all but unknown. The village is surrounded by forest, and there is no way to reach the towns that lie beyond the woods without great peril. These woods," he said slowly, "are not empty."

Rose frowns. "Before, you said that there were problems with animals."

"Yes, forgive me the deceit. Whatever they are, the Nameless who dwell in the trees, they are not animals. Creatures, rather—beings of great power who do not allow trespassers to cross their land. We are allowed to live here only so long as we do not disturb them."

She asks the first question that pops into her head. "If that's the case, how did you get here?"

"I was given directions and told that I had to arrive on a very specific date. I didn't know it at the time, but I believe my passage through the forest was the result of some very careful negotiations." He pauses again. "Do you believe me?"

Rose blows out a breath. "Yeah." Really, it explains a lot. Aliens. Obviously aliens, and really, she should have expected it. Only the Doctor would manage to defy time, space, and biology to find a hiding place from aliens and then end up in the middle of another alien invasion.

When he gets back to his right mind, they are going to have _words_.

"Did you see them at all? What do they look like?" she asks.

"I never did, fortunately." They walk a moment in silence. "You're taking this very well," comments Dr. Smith hesitantly.

"Oh." Rose tries to school her features into something a little more…expected. "Well, you know. I've traveled around a bit. The world is a very strange place sometimes."

"Quite," he agrees. "Still, you're very brave."

_Well, once you've seen one alien invasion, you've seen 'em all_, she thinks flippantly. She doesn't even know if it's a real invasion—could just be some cranky, territorial aliens crash-landed in the woods or something. Unless, of course, the creatures in the woods are the hunters the Doctor had talked about. He must have feared that they'd chase the TARDIS through the Vortex; otherwise, why hide? And if they can time travel…what if they've been waiting here all along, searching for him? What if they find the TARDIS? What if they follow her trail right to the Doctor?

Her sudden wave of fear must show on her face—Dr. Smith places his hand over hers where it rests on his arm. "I don't mean to alarm you. You're safe here. The village has long since negotiated a peace with those who dwell in the forest. As long as we do not stray into the trees, all will be well. Do not worry. I…" He stops, and his fingers tighten on hers. "I won't let anything happen to you, Rose."

Her cheeks are suddenly very warm—maybe they're walking through a particularly bright patch of sun. "Thanks." She squeezes his arm in return. "I won't let anything happen to you, either." Then she grins, tongue in teeth, so that he'll take it as a joke. She means it, of course, more than he'll ever know, but it wouldn't do to have him hear the resolve behind those words.

As expected, he laughs. As they make their way back toward the village, he ventures to take her hand instead of her elbow, threading their fingers together, and Rose tries to keep a hold of her new resolve. Sometimes he just seems so much like the Doctor that it leaves her aching.

The next day, he brings her a cane and shows her how to use it—how to tap rather than drag it, how to swing it in time with her steps, and how to listen for the sound it makes. She practices walking around the house with his help, and when he compliments her warmly on her progress, she blushes. Then he shows her how to use it to go up and down the stairs, and she practices him right behind her, his hand warm on her elbow.

When he says reluctantly that he must leave to check on his other patients but then pauses to tuck a tendril of her hair behind her ear before he goes, it suddenly occurs to Rose that Dr. Smith just might be flirting with her, 1870's style. No, not flirting—_courting._ The idea of that is so bizarre that it keeps her up half the night, tossing and turning in her narrow bed. Sure, she and the Doctor flirt all the time, always have, but Rose has learned perfectly well by now that it's not going to lead to anything, no matter what she might want. It's just the way he is. John Smith, though, he's human. He might mean it.

What would the Doctor say?

Probably nothing, she decides, rolling her sightless eyes. It's much more likely that he'd avoid the topic like the plague. Besides, the flirting is probably just an old habit, carried over like the fingers in the jam jar. Dr. Smith probably doesn't mean anything by it either.

When she finally falls asleep, she dreams of coins spilling into her upturned hands; of wheels rolling down dusty, ancient roads; of the London Eye spinning brightly in the night. Behind her, out of sight, the Doctor is speaking—she can hear his voice going faster and faster, but she can't make out the words. She can't do anything but stand there above the Thames and stare at the rotating lights of the Eye as they wheel through a swollen black sky.


	7. you've got her in your pocket

**A/N: Co-authored by Helplesslynerdy (on Teaspoon/Tumblr) and myself. **

The next morning, Mary comes in early and wakes her.

"Here, I've brought you a quick bite of breakfast. Sit up and eat it, and then I'll help you get ready."

Rose snuffles into her pillow. "Ready for what?" she mutters, trying to subtly burrow deeper under her quilt.

"The church service, of course!" Mary sounds a bit incredulous as she draws the shades. "Last week, the doctor didn't think you were well enough, said to just let you sleep. But now that you're up and about, you can go. And you're in luck! Anne Holt has lent you a dress to wear, and you and she have the same figure, so it ought to fit."

With a tug, Mary liberates the blankets, and Rose sits up with a sigh. She has no idea what time it is, but it feels hideously early. She rubs her arms, trying to shake of the last vestiges of the dream.

_There had been something in her hand, something important…_

The breakfast tray is unceremoniously dropped in her lap, and the dream memory slips away. Rose is able to get a few bites of the bread and butter before Mary hustles her out of bed and into the borrowed dress.

Just as Mary's lacing up her boots, they hear a knock at the front door.

"Ah, that'll be Dr. Smith," says Mary knowledgeably. "He always calls on Sundays to walk Miss Redfern to church."

Rose blinks. "Oh?"

"Mm-hmm, he's being walking her almost since he arrived." Mary's voice drops to a confidential whisper. "One of these days, he'll take her to the church properly, I think."

For several long heartbeats, Rose absorbs this information. "Oh. OH. Um, right."

"Wouldn't that be perfect, though?" Mary sighs happily as she finishes tying the laces. "The doctor and the nurse, so romantic. And poor Miss Redfern has been alone for so long since the man who courted her died of a fever when they were both young. She's never wanted to walk with anyone until now."

"Uh-huh," agrees Rose blankly as she runs a brush through her hair.

"Here, let me finish that. I'll just do a quick braid, and you'll be ready to go." Mary pulls the brush from her hand and starts to work on her hair, leaving Rose to process what she's just heard. It can't be true…can it?

Or rather, it can't mean what Mary thinks. He's probably just being polite. Neighborly. Yes, that must be it, just a friendly, neighborly gesture. The Doctor's always doing things like that. Doesn't mean a thing.

Not the Doctor, though, she reminds herself with a sudden unease. John Smith. Sure, he might flirt with her out of old habit, but he might mean it where Joan Redfern is concerned.

Behind her, Mary finishes the braid. "There, all done. You look lovely."

"Thanks," says Rose automatically as she puts the things on her dressing table back into place so that she can find them again easily—an important habit, she's found.

"If you're all ready then, I think I'm going to hurry on ahead," says Mary. "I'm supposed to meet my friend Ida before the service."

"Yeah, sure." Rose nods. "Thanks again."

Mary's footsteps sound on the stairs, and a moment later, there is the sound of her leaving out the back door. Once it is quiet, Rose can hear voices downstairs in the sitting room.

She taps her fingers against the cool enamel of the washbasin. This isn't good. Joan Redfern and John Smith? Yeah, there is no way that's going to end well. Rose bites her lip. Should she go down and interrupt? Wait until they leave? Casually mention that Dr. Smith is actually a 900-year-old space alien in disguise and not, in fact, the country-doctor-catch he might seem at first glance?

Rose groans and spends a few moments tugging at her skirt, adjusting her sleeves, checking the fastenings of her dress—all while trying hard to both listen and not-listen to the sound of their conversation. Finally, she decides that she can't reasonably delay any longer. With a deep breath, she picks up her cane and heads downstairs.

There is laughter now coming from the sitting room. From the sound of it, Dr. Smith has said something enormously clever, apparently much to Nurse Redfern's delight. For a moment, Rose considers just walking out the door and trying to find her own way.

"Ah, and here's Rose," says Dr. Smith as she hesitates by the doorway, the laughter still in his voice. "Good morning."

"Yeah, morning. Sorry to interrupt." Rose tries her best to sound nonchalant. "I'm just heading out. To the church service."

"Oh, you'll need someone to help you along the way," says Dr. Smith.

"She can walk with Mary," says Nurse Redfern quickly and then pauses for an uncomfortable moment before calling, "Mary!"

Rose resists the urge to grimace—she's just so sick of needing help. "I think Mary already left to go meet her friend."

"Ah," says Nurse Redfern stiffly.

"It's alright," says Rose, "I'll just—"

"Well, not to worry," interrupts Dr. Smith in a cheerful voice. "I do have two arms, after all."

There is an awkward silence.

Rose has no idea what to say to that because clearly this whole 'walking to church' thing has some serious significance here. No good at all can come of Nurse Redfern becoming attached to the Doctor—this situation is temporary, and he's not himself, and he definitely wouldn't ever consider settling down here if he were in his right mind, and Joan Redfern isn't even the sort he'd like if he were, and…and…well, a whole myriad of other reasons Rose doesn't care to explore at the moment.

On the other hand, what can she possibly do about it? If she takes the Dr. Smith up on his offer, Nurse Redfern is not going to be pleased, and Rose is hesitant to get on the other woman's bad side, especially since she's staying in her home. Plus, something in Rose rebels the notion of being a third wheel.

She is about to suggest that she just escort herself when the situation is saved by the sound of footsteps walking up the path and a light, wheezy chuckle.

"Ah," says Nurse Redfern, sounding relieved. "Here's Isaac. Miss Tyler can walk with him."

There is the briefest of pauses before Dr. Smith agrees. "Right. Isaac. He's definitely capable of escorting Miss Tyler. There we are. A perfect solution."

"Of course," says Rose bracingly. "Me n' Isaac will go together. That'll be fine."

"Good," says Nurse Redfern.

"Good," agrees Rose.

And there's that uncomfortable silence again. It lasts all the way to church.

It lasts all the way home, too.

Then, Nurse Redfern and Dr. Smith go off together to see to a patient, leaving Rose alone in the house to fret, twiddle her thumbs, and practice navigating with her cane. She'd like more than anything to get out of the house, but there's no one to help her since Isaac went home to do some work for his mum. She thinks she ought to start searching for the TARDIS, but that's out of the question. She'd like to learn a bit more about the aliens in the woods, but that's not going to happen, either. She'd like to keep an eye on Dr. Smith, but that's a bloody physical impossibility. Hell, she can't even read to pass the time.

Bearing up patiently under a physical ailment is really starting to lose its charm.

That afternoon, Nurse Redfern returns in a much better mood than when she left, and the chilly atmosphere melts away. In fact, the woman is practically humming. During the evening meal, Rose listens and nods at appropriate intervals during Joan's animated description of Dr. Smith's clever diagnosis, an uneasy feeling twisting just under her sternum.

"Oh, and before I forget," says Joan as they finish and she begins to tidy up the table, "Dr. Smith said he'd stop by tomorrow to take you for a walk in the gardens. Won't that be nice?"

"Oh-h?" Rose tries and fails to keep the surprise out of her voice—Joan sounds entirely too comfortable with that idea. "I mean, yes, sure, that'd be lovely."

"He's such a kind-hearted man," Joan enthuses. "I know the Elders asked him to take an interested in your welfare, but he really goes out of his way to make sure you are content here."

"Mmm," hums Rose noncommittally. She's a little unsure where all this is coming from. "Yes, he's been very nice."

"Having a man like that willing to stand for you is quite fortunate. He has…" She pauses, and Rose feels a hand come rest on her shoulder. "He has a brother's affection in his heart where you are concerned. Be grateful for that."

Ah. So that's it.

It takes some effort, but Rose manages to force the words that are waiting, right there on the tip of her tongue, back down where they belong. Once upon a time, she would have let them spill out, but traveling with the Doctor has taught her a thing or two about diplomacy—telling Nurse Redfern where to get off isn't going to do anybody any good. Instead, Rose puts on a sweet smile, nods, and agrees without really agreeing.

Joan can think what she likes. Doesn't change a thing. As soon as Rose figures out how to fix all this, the Doctor will come back, and they'll leave together. Sure, they'll just be friends—well, friends who happen to hug each other a lot—but it'll be her hand in his, and that's all she needs. Rose has resigned herself to the limits of their relationship, and one way or another, Joan will have to do the same.

Of course, it wouldn't hurt to help things along, just a bit. The less he and Joan are together, the better.

Over the next few weeks, Dr. Smith comes by quite often to see how she' doing, and Rose makes sure to spend as much time with him as possible. It's easy to monopolize his attention—John Smith might not be the Doctor, but there is enough similarity between the two of them to give her an idea of what might interest him. So she tells him about the time she met Charles Dickens several years ago in Cardiff, and they have a lively discussion about his short stories. He takes her rowing on the village pond, and she tells him a highly edited version (sans aliens) of the time she fell into the Thames, just to make him laugh. She asks him questions, gives him a chance to tell her all about beekeeping, candle making, country medicine—anything she can think of, really. And when he flirts with her, she flirts back.

It works.

He still escorts Joan every Sunday but the rest of the week, he spends what free time he has with Rose. He seems to enjoy playing the tour guide, and he loves to talk—at times, Rose can very nearly imagine that she's with the Doctor, exploring some new place and time.

It's…nice. The way he takes such pains to please her, offers up so much of his time to keep her company. And then there's the way he runs his thumb over the top of her hand every now and then. It gives Rose a funny, little thrill every time, even though she knows she should just ignore it. John Smith isn't even real.

He feels real, though.

He feels real, and she can't help it—she looks forward to his visits, to that hand resting on hers. She tells herself that he's just a mask, a shadow cast by an absent man, but then he tells her a story to make her laugh or does something so sweet and thoughtful that it makes her heart swell.

She is so alone.

He takes that away, if only for a little while.

When he is too busy practicing medicine to be with her, she spends her time fretting about finding the TARDIS. She worries about the aliens in the woods and the aliens hunting for the Doctor. She wracks her brains for a way to bring him back. And at night, she dreams of pinwheels and candy tins and the spiraling centers of sunflowers. Sometimes, on the worst nights, she dreams of screaming—horrible, inhuman screaming.

It's after the first such nightmare that she decides to start pushing the limits of her independence. She has to reach the TARDIS, and the only way is through the woods. With Isaac's help, she starts learning how to navigate the outdoors, using sound and touch and smell to guide herself from house to house through the village. After a while, she is confident enough to go without help.

The day she first ventures out of town, she heads toward the river, thinking that she'd like to find the spot where it exits the forest. Just in case, she follows a fence to make sure she can find her way back, but she tries to find her way mostly with her cane and other senses.

From the fields come the sounds of sheep baaing contentedly. Farther off, Rose can hear dogs barking and children playing. The sun is shining on the right side of her face, helping her mark her direction. She can tell that she's past the buildings at the edge of town when the ground grows rougher and the path narrows. She goes cautiously, trying to remember the previous times she's come this way with Isaac. When she finally reaches the gate that leads toward the river, she grins in triumph at her success.

Before she has a chance to decide whether to push on, a bell begins to toll from somewhere across the valley. It's not coming from the direction of the village, but just as Rose turns to try to pinpoint its location, another starts to ring, and then another, the sounds coming from several different directions and echoing off the hillsides.

The noise drowns out the sheep and the dogs; it's disorienting, and for a moment, Rose stands stock still, her heart racing, panicked at the thought of not being able to find her way back. The fence, she remembers. Follow the fence. With her hands trembling, she finds the rough timbers and starts walking as quickly as she can, counting the posts.

There's shouting coming from the village; she can hear one of the adults calling for the children in the field. What on Earth has happened?

She needs to find the Doctor.

She's getting close, nearly there, when the bells abruptly stop. The yelling has died down—in fact, as she stops to listen, she realizes that she can't hear anyone. No children running, no blacksmith's hammer, no axe chopping wood. Even the sheep are silent.

Rose is debating trying to find a hiding place in the long grass when she hears footsteps running toward her. She flinches back, raises her cane in defense, but whatever it is just knocks it away and grabs her hand.

"Rose," he says. "_Run._"

Her cane falls to the ground as her feet obey automatically, racing along the dirt path behind him. "Doctor," she gasps, only adding, "Smith," as an afterthought a beat later.

"Shh, don't speak," he mutters, clutching her hand tighter. "They're coming. We have to hurry."

"What? Who?" she asks, but he doesn't answer, and she thinks she knows. _The aliens._

They run to where the path gets flatter, smoother and then up to the front porch of one of the buildings at the edge of town—the schoolhouse, if she's judging the distance right. Dr. Smith quickly unlatches the door and drags her inside, slamming it shut behind them. He pulls her to the middle of the room, and then there is a creak and a _thunk_, something heavy hitting the floor.

"Trapdoor," he explains, guiding her forward, "there's a ladder down into the cellar." He puts her hand on the edge of the opening. "I'll go down first and help you."

She can hear him quickly descend and turns to follow him when she hears another sound. It's soft, muted—coming from outside the building, she thinks. _Growling._

"_Quickly_," hisses Dr. Smith, tugging her down when she hesitates. Once she reaches the floor, he scrambles back up the ladder to pull the trapdoor shut.

"No sound," he whispers, taking her hand. They both go still and silent, waiting.

Above them, the porch creaks. There is a long, scratching sound, like something being dragged roughly against the wall.

Rose is conscious of her every breath, of the sound of every heartbeat. Beside her, Dr. Smith is taking quick, shallow pants, and his palm is sweaty against hers. The tiny cellar reeks of fear.

The latch of the schoolhouse door clicks open, and Rose takes a small step forward without thinking. There are footsteps, heavy and with an odd click, like claws tapping on the floorboards, and a dry snuffling sound.

Something is searching for them, smelling them out.

Rose squeezes his hand, and those familiar fingers squeeze back. This situation is hardly new for them, but it's never been quite like this, with both of them so compromised. Another soft growl comes from above, and Rose clenches her free hand into a fist. Alright then, she thinks, letting go of his hand and taking another step forward to stand in front of him. If they want to get to the Doctor, they're going to have to go through her.

There is another long sniff, just above the trapdoor, and Rose holds her breath. Then there are more clicking footsteps, but this time, they are moving away. With a dull thunk, the schoolhouse door closes.

Silence.

She is shaking, she realizes. Vibrating with fear or the need to move, to grab his hand and _run_, she can't tell.

Hands brush the tops of her shoulders, and Rose jumps.

"Shhhh," he soothes quietly in her ear, stroking fingertips down her arms. "It's alright. They've gone past us. We just have to wait for the all-clear."

She lets out a long breath. "Wh-why are they here? What are they looking for?"

"I don't know. Maybe…" He pauses hesitantly. "It might be because of you."

"Me?"

"Anything new, really. They came shortly after I arrived as well. But they will leave soon, and all will be well. Is…" He pulls his hands back so that she can just barely feel the ghost of them hovering just above her elbows, and when he speaks again, he sounds uncertain. "Is this alright?"

"Yeah." Why on Earth is her voice so breathy?

His voice is soft as his hands return to her arms, fingertips tracing a line from elbow to shoulder and back again over the coarse fabric of her dress. "Don't be frightened. We're safe here." When she doesn't respond, he asks, "Would it make you feel better if I told you a story?"

Rose lets out a shaky laugh. "Sure."

He is quiet for a moment, thinking. "Would you like to hear about my dreams? They're a bit strange, but I think maybe you'd enjoy them."

She is still listening for any sign of the aliens, trying to concentrate despite the warm sensation of him caressing her arms, but she nods. Then, realizing that he probably can't see either, she says, "Dreams, yeah. Sounds good."

He hums softly, pleased. "I've had the same one for several weeks now. Nearly every night, I dream that I am the captain of a ship with bright blue sails, traveling on an infinite sea."

That gets her attention. Rose inhales sharply, and he squeezes her shoulder gently, perhaps thinking that she's still frightened. Which she is, to be honest, but this is a different sort of fear. His dream is just a little too close to the truth—is the Doctor leaking through? Is this normal? Is he ok? She asks the first thing that pops into her head, by way of keep him talking. "And how do you know it's infinite?"

She swears she can hear him smiling, just a little, as he answers softly. "Because I traverse every part of it."

"Ah." She nods, thinking quickly. "You realize that doesn't really make sense, right?"

"Well, they're dreams," he says, voice still soft. "Such is to be expected."

Rose nods again. "Sure. Just dreams."

"Aren't you going to ask about my crew?" he asks after a moment.

"Is there a crew?" She is surprised—his dream seemed so close to reality.

"Just one." He slides his fingers all the way down her arm and takes her hand. "A most vexing young lady. She is rather…troublesome. And blonde."

A slow smile spreads over Rose's face. "Am I on your ship with you?"

He puts some effort into making a shocked sound. "Miss Tyler, intimating something like that would be very improper of me."

Rose just grins in the dark. "So what did _she_ do that's so…what was it? Vexing?"

He is quiet a moment. When he speaks, it's with an entirely different tone—the teasing is done. He sounds almost reverent. "You sat on the prow of the ship as the storm rolled in, right out at the very edge of disaster. You sat there and laughed, _laughed_ at the size of the waves."

"M'sorry," she says softly, even though she's not totally sure what she's apologizing for. But if this dream really is bleeding out of the Doctor's subconscious, well…

"I tried to call you back. Tried to take you to a safe port, tried to lash you down to the prow, tried everything to keep you from slipping into that abyss. But you just laughed. Like today," he adds, stroking his thumb over the top of her hand. "I bring you here to protect you from the Nameless, but somehow _you_ end up standing in front of _me_. You are the bravest person I know."

They are quiet for a long moment, and Rose is suddenly very conscious of the fact that they're alone together in a dark cellar. Alone with his fingers still caressing hers. She's surprised by the urge to return the favor, to explore his hands and wrists and arms bit by bit.

To distract herself, she asks, "They aren't all like that, are they? Your dreams?"

He laughs softly. "No. Sometimes they are lovely. We land in a hundred different lands, full of emerald trees and pink sand. Cities made of ebony and gold. Each new world more beautiful than the last, can you imagine it? Sometimes, I even miss my dreams when I'm awake. I wish…" He pauses and shifts his grip to thread their fingers together. "Oh, Rose, I wish I could show you. I wish I could show you all those wonderful places."

She blinks, trying to hide a few stray tears that have come with his words. "Sounds amazing."

"It is," he agrees. "But here now, I've been talking for ages. Go on. Tell me about one of your dreams."

"Oh, I don't really remember them," she lies, shrugging lightly. "S'pose it's just random things, really." There's no good reason not to answer him that last night, she dreamed of doorknobs and clock faces and strange, endless hallways. Still, she can't bring herself to tell the truth. The dreams make no sense, and she's not sure if they mean anything, but for some reason, they feel like a piece of her old life. She's not ready to share them yet.

Before he has a chance to question her further, the bells being to ring again, signaling the all-clear. They let go of each other, but Rose doesn't think she's just imagining his reluctance to leave the cellar. He escorts her home and lets her go in only after promising to find her cane for her and ordering Mary to brew her a nice, calming cup of tea.

The next Sunday, Joan is laid up with a head cold. Dr. Smith arrives early to examine her and determines it's nothing serious, though he does order a few days of bed rest.

When he comes to the sitting room to tell Rose the news, she frowns.

"Should I stay here to help her, do you think?"

"No, no need," he says. "Mary is going to stay and keep an eye on her. Shall we?" He sounds unusually cheerful.

"To church, you mean?"

"Yes. I would…" He stops, and Rose thinks she hears him swallow. When he starts again, his voice is light. "I would be pleased to escort you, Rose. If you'd like."

She can't help but tease him. "Since your usual walking partner is laid up, you mean?" she asks, tongue in teeth as she stands up.

He takes her arm, guiding her hand through his elbow slowly and deliberately. "Anytime," he answers softly. "Rose, anytime you like."

They start toward the church, chatting over the local village news.

"You do know that Sarah Adams and Michael Bailey are getting married tomorrow?" he asks. "Should be quite the event."

Rose laughs. "You don't say. It's been the only thing Mary's talked about all week. She's got a _new dress_. I'm told that it is blue—but not just any blue! The _perfect_ blue."

Dr. Smith chuckles. "Well, the young folk enjoy weddings. Any excuse for a dance, you know."

"Oh, there'll be dancing?" she asks, a little wistfully.

"Yes. Actually…" He pauses and sets his hand over hers. "I've been meaning to ask whether there might be any space left on your dance card."

She's fairly sure he means a metaphorical dance card. They're not supposed to have actual cards, are they? This, she thinks, is the problem with time travel, at least when you stay in one place for any length of time. "Yeah, pretty sure it's empty. Or, you know, nonexistent."

Dr. Smith laughs again. "Well, of course. They're not quite up to the London fashions here."

He's quiet for a moment, but she gets the distinct feeling he's beaming at her.

"What?"

His hand tightens on hers, and his voice is low and pleasant. "It's just, you're always so…forthright. Never hiding behind a pretense. I…well, I enjoy it very much."

Her cheeks are getting hot, from the warmth of his praise or from the sudden rush of shame, she can't quite tell, because there's more pretense about her than he could possibly imagine. "Thanks."

"Rose." He slides his fingers over the top of her hand, curls them under the edge of her palm. "Will you dance with me tomorrow night?"

Something about the way he says it, so soft and earnest, makes her heart beat faster, and the realization comes in a rush. _ She wants to say yes_. She wants to dance the whole night with him, John Smith. And not just to keep Joan Redfern away. She wants his company, wants to feel those hands on her arms again. And she thinks, based on how one of his fingers is still stroking the side of her wrist, that he might not be opposed to that idea himself.

This wasn't part of the plan. She ought to be focusing on bringing the Doctor back, but she can't help it. She's human, and _she wants_.

Rose opens her mouth to give a reply, but before she can say anything, there's a snarling sound behind her. She can hear quick footsteps on the dirt path, and then she shrieks as a hand violently pulls her away from Dr. Smith.

"Isaac!" shouts Dr. Smith. "Stop!"

"Give her back to me," growls Isaac, as Rose collides roughly with him. He sounds so unlike himself that she can hardly recognize the voice of her friend. _ But still, there's something strangely familiar about it_…

Regaining her footing, Rose twists her arm free. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He grabs her hand back, and she can hear his throat working, trying to find the words. "Hands…together," he grinds out, roughly twining their fingers. "Our hands."

"Let her go," threatens Dr. Smith. "Isaac, let her go this instant!"

But this only earns him another snarl.

Rose yanks her hand from Isaac's again, about to deliver a blistering lecture when she hears him gasp. Then a sniffle. And another.

He's crying.

"Hold hands," he chokes out. "Missed you."

"Rose, are you alright?" Dr. Smith's hands are on her elbows, pulling her back. "Did he hurt you?"

"'M fine," she says absently, listening to Isaac keening as he falls to his knees in the dirt. "Isaac, are you alright? What happened?"

"For goodness' sake, don't bother with him," says Dr. Smith with a snort. "Where is his mother? He ought to be punished for this sort of behavior."

"Give it a rest," says Rose as she kneels down beside her friend. "Isaac, what's the matter?"

"Porch," he whimpers. "Waited." Then, there's a long shuddering sigh. "You were gone."

"Oh," says Rose, reaching out a hand, feeling for his shoulder, "I'm sorry. You're right; we should have waited for you."

"Don't mollycoddle him," says Dr. Smith, annoyed. "There's no excuse for this sort of thing."

Rose turns in his direction, annoyed herself. "That's not fair. We always walk together, Isaac n' me. And then today, I just forgot him. It's not his fault—I was the one who was thoughtless. I'm sorry, Isaac."

Under her ministrations, Isaac calms down enough to walk the rest of the way, particularly after Rose promises to walk home with him. Dr. Smith seems unreasonably irritated, though he keeps his thoughts mostly to himself. Rose, meanwhile, spends quite a bit of time thinking the incident over.

There was something there, something familiar. If only she could put her finger on it.

That night, she dreams.

_It's cold. She tries to burrow deeper under her quilt, but it's no use—the quilt is gone, the mattress is gone, the room is gone._

_Rose opens her eyes. _

_She is lying on the floor of the TARDIS, the cold grating digging into her back. Overhead, the rough coral walls curve up into a ceiling, forming a long corridor lit by the ship's roundels._

_There is something in her hands, a bag. A big, old-fashioned medicine bag, bumping into her knees as she stands up. "This isn't where I left my things," she complains to the walls, and one of the roundels blinks a long, feathery eyelid in apology._

_No matter. He'll know where she left it. He's always leaving the important things behind._

_She starts to walk, every step tick-tick-tick. She goes on for ages, over hill and over dale. The shores of Woman Wept. Through fields of applegrass from Aberdeen to Croydon, the bag jingling as she goes. She won't ever, ever stop. _

_When she finds him, he is perched halfway up the gears of a magnificent telescope, mounted on the parapet of a castle and silhouetted against the moon. _

"_You aren't half-hard to chase down," she complains, looking up. "I had to look everywhere."_

_He peers down, tilts his head. "You sure I'm the one you wanted?"_

"_You look like you," she observes as he hops down. "Why wouldn't you be?"_

_He opens his mouth wide, shows her rows of gleaming, intricate clockwork._

"_Ah, I see." She nods thoughtfully. "That is a problem." Considering now, she asks, "You're not going to cut me into pieces, are you?"_

"_No." He shakes his head, gears grinding. "I want you whole. That's the point of it all."_

"_You left me blind." With that accusation, the lights go out, leaving nothing but one glowing circle, just over the space where his other heart should be._

_He takes her hands, brings them up to his chest. "This is me." Presses the round, shining jewel into them. "This is me."_

"_I can't see you," she cries, but as she closes her fingers around its metal surface, it pulses, warm and alive, and the Doctor speaks._

"_Rose."_

_And there he is at last. She laughs for joy, seeing him there, secure in her hand. The Doctor, safely tucked into a…_

"Fob watch!"

Rose comes awake with a start, sitting straight up in bed and blinking her eyes against the pervasive darkness. Her fingers curl over her palm, clutching a ghost of the object they'd held. A fob watch, of all things. She's not sure how she's so certain that the revelation from her dream is true, but there it is.

The Doctor's gone and stuffed himself inside a watch. How, she has no idea—must be one of those weird, alien, Time Lordy things. It'd almost be funny if she didn't want to strangle him for it so badly.

But with any luck, it'll be just a matter of finding it. She rubs a hand over her face. Where would it be? The TARDIS? It would make a certain sort of sense, keeping it safe there, but considering how hard that might prove to find, she's hoping not. Where else, then? The only other place she can think of is in John Smith's possessions.

She'll just have to casually ask if he has the time.

Rose stifles a slightly hysterical giggle, still giddy from the discovery in her dream. They're going to be OK. They're going to be able to go home.

She can hardly wait to get started, but after breakfast, she learns that Dr. Smith is busy delivering a baby (which, frankly, she can't imagine the Doctor doing in a millions years, and yeah, she can't wait to tease him about it). She's tempted to try a little breaking and entering to see if she can find it in his house, but there's no way she wouldn't be caught, and she imagines it'd be pretty hard to explain.

No matter, though. He'll be at the wedding dance. She just has to be patient for a few more hours.

It's easier said than done, but finally the afternoon rolls around, and it's time to get dressed. Mary had promised to help her get ready. Rose washes her face and brushes out her hair as best she can while she waits for her to arrive. Hanging on a hook near her bed is a dress that one of the other girls, Anne, has loaned her for tonight. It's yellow, she's been told, and Anne assured her that it would be "fetching." Rose has her doubts—yellow, after all—but beggars can't be choosers. It's just weird, getting dressed up in an outfit that she can't actually see.

"Ida! Ida, over here!"

It's Mary's voice, coming from outside, just below the window. Hopefully she'll be in soon, but Rose recognizes that tone—the universal sound of teenage gossip. Mary clearly has some news to impart to her friend.

Rose smiles nostalgically and figures she can wait a few more minutes to let them have their little gab. In fact, she thinks, she can probably get her dress on herself, now that she's more familiar with the ties and fastenings.

As she stoops to unlace her boots, she hears the squealing begin.

"Ida, oh my heavenly stars," says Mary, excitedly. "You won't ever guess what just happened."

Ida is quiet a moment and then offers up, "Victor Crane has complimented you on your new dress!"

"No," says Mary, a smile in her voice. "I haven't seen Victor yet."

"He is going to love it," Ida predicts. "And your new way of braiding your hair is so fetching!"

Inside, Rose grins as she kicks off one boot and starts on the next. _Fetching._

"Thank you!" says Mary. "But you still have to guess."

There is a pause, Ida apparently thinking it over. "Oh! Michael Corner has proposed to your sister!"

Mary shrieks, "Ida!" and the girls dissolve into giggles, Mary's sister's suitors an apparent source of amusement.

Rose gets her other boot off and stands up to start on the buttons on her dress.

"No," says Mary, still laughing. "Can you imagine, though? Mother would throw a fit!"

"Well then, tell me," Ida implores. "What is it?"

There is a moment of silence, and Rose works to get the last button undone as Mary gleefully draws out the suspense.

"I was over by the eastern hay field, near where Nurse Redfern has her herb garden," Mary begins, her voice excited but low, and Rose finds herself moving closer to the window to hear the story as she pulls off her overdress. "And you'll never believe what I saw."

"What?" demands Ida breathlessly.

"Dr. Smith and Nurse Redfern," says Mary with relish, and then in a hushed voice, "and they were kissing."


	8. i'm finding it harder to be a gentleman

**A/N: Coauthored by HelplesslyNerdy (on Tumblr/Tsp) and myself.**

_There is a moment of silence, and Rose works to get the last button undone as Mary gleefully draws out the suspense._

_"I was over by the eastern hay field, near where Nurse Redfern has her herb garden," Mary begins, her voice excited but low, and Rose finds herself moving closer to the window to hear the story as she pulls off her overdress. "And you'll never believe what I saw."_

_"What?" demands Ida breathlessly._

_"Dr. Smith and Nurse Redfern," says Mary with relish, and then in a hushed voice, "and they were kissing."_

The dress falls from Rose's hands with a _whoosh_ to pool at her feet. After a couple of seconds, she realizes her hands are still in the air and lets them fall. The girls haven't said more as they are still trying to calm their giggles.

The wooden frame squeaks as she shakily lowers herself to sit on the bed. It could have been anything, right? Perhaps he was just leaning close to her, and Mary just _thought_ they were kissing. She did try to make her stories more…interesting. And they weren't in the most open of societies, either. For all she knew, Mary could have just seen a brotherly peck on the cheek.

Brotherly. Yes.

The girls calm down, and Rose strains to hear if Mary is going to elaborate. "But you must tell me more," Ida whispers.

"Well," Mary pauses. "You cannot breathe a _word_ of this, Ida. But I was going to meet the nurse to help her bring the herbs back, and when I walked around the edge of the fence, I saw them standing together in _quite close proximity_."

"And, and?"

"I hung back to see what would happen. Long has he been walking her to church, you know."

The sound of a stitch breaking startles Rose. She has pulled the seam out of the glove she had been worrying. Throwing the glove down beside her, she takes in a deep breath. If she weren't currently eavesdropping, she would have gone down and shook that girl at every dramatic pause.

"And then Dr. Smith took Nurse Redfern's elbow. They were talking so low; I could not hear what they said. The doctor stopped speaking and then," Mary sighs, "Nurse Redfern brushed her hand on his cheek." At this, Ida squeaks. "And they kissed. _Fully_."

"Oh, how _romantic_," Ida exhales.

"Surely there will be an announcement tonight." They both titter. "But hurry, I need to get dressed!" Rose hears the rustle of their skirts as the girls scurry off.

Rose's breathing picks up. The black hole that had inexplicably allowed Krop-Tor to float above them was currently trying to take up residence in the center of her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, out of habit more than need. Like the child that covers its eyes while playing hide-and-go-seek. _You can't see me if I can't see you_.

_If I can't see it, does this mean none of this exists?_

Rose lies back on the bed, curling around her feather pillow. This definitely wasn't the first time that the Doctor had been caught up with someone. Jabe the Tree had been on their first real trip! And then there had been France…but, they had talked that out. As much as talking out anything with the Doctor could amount to. She knew that he was running, running then, like he always did- but he always came back to her. Would Dr. Smith come back from this?

Would he even want to?

She bites her thumbnail. Seeking her out at every spare minute, the hand-holding, the dreams- what was all of that, then? Passing the time? With open palm, she hits the mattress. Couldn't be. Without the complications of being an alien traveling all of time and space trapped in a human body without the proper memories, Dr. Smith wasn't being fair to her. Or, as much as she hates to admit, Miss Redfern.

Soft humming alerts her that she is no longer alone. It stops outside her door, that she had left open as Mary left. "Rose? Whatever are you still doing in bed? You have to leave soon!" The humming resumes as the creaks of the wood floor go the way of Nurse Redfern's room. Pleased as punch, that one.

The dread sits low in her stomach. The last thing she wants to do now is go dance. She chuckles mirthlessly. Actually, the last thing she wants is to be within ten metres of that man- but that's neither here nor there. She really needs to find that fob watch, though she has no idea how to even start. What if it was destoyed as the TARDIS crashed? She swallows. Think positive. They'll find a way out of this scrape. They have to.

As for the awkwardness of the dance, she's sure that Isaac will want to keep her company. He'd been a lot more insistent of late, especially if Dr. Smith was around. He still had a quiet way about him, so she would have time to think. To figure out her next move.

Or to pretend there would be one.

The next hour passes in something of a fog. Mary never returns to help, but she gets herself into hopefully presentable enough shape. She has the wherewithal to tell Miss Redfern that she was going to walk with Isaac and his mother. As much as she hates to admit it, she knows her jealous streak would come out in full-force, and the last thing she needs to do is cause a scene. Especially if the hunters are already aware of her presence- if she wants to find that watch and get the Doctor back, she has to keep her head down to protect them both. But how can she do that if Dr. Smith is intending to…settle down?

Instead of going to Isaac's, Rose uses the time to try and organize her thoughts. She knows her way around the village well enough, and the wedding guests are already making enough noise that she could find her way anyway. What should she do? What was the next step? And how could she bleach her mind of the Doctor kissing some blonde _again_? So maybe expecting to figure out everything in a ten-minute walk was being too optimistic.

When she reaches the wedding, Isaac _thankfully_ immediately takes her hand, barring any thoughts that Dr. Smith would try to seek her out. Isaac has been much improved since the incident, but Dr. Smith has been giving him a wide berth to try and keep the peace. Doesn't want to trigger an episode and ruin a wedding. All the better.

The ceremony is very traditional and very short, and then they are all ushered out to a large gazebo. The entire place is permeated with the smell of a fresh roast and the spicy-sweet of cider being poured. There is a low buzz of everyone talking and eating, but as Rose is with Isaac, there is little in the way of conversation. And the fact that most of the villagers, though kind, still give her a pretty wide berth. Rose's fork makes a dull sound against the metal of her plate as she pushes the food that Isaac's mother served for her around. Miriam is kind, but not much of a talker. Words are few and far between, and though Rose would normally be trying to draw her company out, tonight she is glad for the general silence.

Soon someone strikes up a fiddle and a guitar joins in as she hears the scraping of furniture. Probably clearing the floor to dance. The floor begins to vibrate as the temperature around her steadily rises with the movement of all the people. She hears Mary's loud giggle over the din, and can't help the small grin that crosses her face. Despite herself, she also finds herself keeping time with her feet.

Isaac hums along off-key and taps his fingers on her hand to the rhythm. "No secret, no Doctor tonight."

She turns towards his voice. "Hmm? Oh, no. No, Dr. Smith should be…occupied with someone else tonight."

He happily hums again. The music for the first dance ends, and Isaac asks, "Drink?"

"That would be lovely, thanks." He pats her hand before she feels him leave her side. The music starts again and her head lightly sways to the music. How much she misses dancing. Not that she would probably be able to immediately keep up with their dances, even if she could see. Probably were some version of those group dances from the films based in the nineteenth century. She bites back a smile at the thought of busting out some version of the "Electric Slide" or the "Macarena." Scandalizing the locals seemed to be par for the course of their travels, but today was definitely not that day.

She feels a hand at her elbow and reaches out with a smile. "Were you able to get me some cider, then?"

"No, I'm sorry, I haven't any. I could get some for you, if you like." Her smile fades. The voice that answers her is decidedly _not_Isaac's, but Dr. Smith's. His voice is warm and low, the tone that would normally make her lose her train of thought. But instead of her hand tingling where his fingers are brushing, she flexes her fingers to stave off the urge to slap him.

She ignores both impulses and instead slides away from his reach. "Isaac's already getting me some."

A pause. "Of course. Do you think-" Another pause, and her dread at the possible questions begins to slowly drop from her chest to her stomach. She's twisting the handkerchief in her hands so hard, it's a wonder it isn't in pieces. "I mean, I know that you may not know all of the, but I'm more than willing to help-" He sighs. "Rose, would you do me the honor-"

At that moment, Isaac returns to her side. "Drink for Rose."

She stifles her sigh of relief- only barely- and gratefully takes the cup. "Thank you, Isaac." She turns to the other man. "I'm sorry, Dr. Smith. I'm already taken."

The silence hangs heavily until she hears a soft, "Right," followed by footsteps walking away.

How could she want to smack and kiss that man at the same time? She smirks at herself. At least that hasn't changed.

"Dance, Rose?"

She shakes her head before squeezing Isaac's hands. "Of course."

Dancing with Isaac proved to be more like a game of ring-around-the-rosie, but she couldn't help but laugh as he spun her around through several songs. As he took her hands for another, she waves her hands back and forth.

"Not this one," she gasps as she tries to catch her breath between chuckles. "I need a sit before I can dance again."

"Mmkay." He mumbles around his own laughs. She takes his hand as he leads her to a bench. "Where's Mama?" he asks.

"Is she not here?"

"No."

"Why don't you go and ask Mary? She will most likely know."

"You will wait here?"

She pats his hand. "Sure. I'll wait here."

Another song plays and ends. As she turns to place the handkerchief she's been using to dab her forehead on the seat beside her, she can sense someone standing right in front of her. "Were you able to find her, Isaac?"

"Isaac went home with his mother. She was under the weather." Dr. Smith. Her concern trumps any initial reactions she may have had to his reappearance. "Is she all right?"

"Yes, she'll be fine. Normal occurrences for a woman of her age."

Rose nods. Though he doesn't speak for a couple of beats, she knows he's still there. Persistent, this one. For being the one with sight, he's certainly not understanding a brush-off when he sees one. "Well, I'll just find Nurse Redfern to walk back. If she isn't otherwise _engaged_."

If he notices her emphasis, he doesn't acknowledge it. "Nurse Redfern went with Miriam and Isaac. Her grievances are better served with a woman's help."

The fiddler strikes a chord and begins playing solo. She can't place the music, but it's familiar. Much slower, more of a folk song than something to dance a jig to. Soon, the guitar joins in. She is about to ask where Mary is when Dr. Smith blurts, "Dance with me."

She tucks her chin. How to say no? Why couldn't he just leave it for one night? People had started to leave, not that she cared what anyone thought, but she didn't need to get in the middle of anything right now. She had to find that watch, and they had to get out of here before things got any worse.

"Please, Rose."

The sincere, quiet plea stops her. "All right." She musters a small smile. He takes her by the elbow and leads her to the floor. She has no idea what kind of dance they're about to do, and she'll probably botch it. Well, if she steps on his toes, he certainly deserves much worse right now.

His left hand tentatively takes her right, fingers adjusting lightly over hers before clasping them. His right hand presses ever so gently into her back, drawing her closer, but with space yet between them. His touch is so hesitant, like he's afraid she will bolt any minute. A voice with a Northern accent flutters through her mind, "_You have to be…delicate_." With a step forward, he leads them in a simple box-step, which she easily, instinctually follows. And he's not a poor dancer.

And therein lies the problem. She feels like one of those plasma balls. Every point that he's touching her is alight, sparking brilliantly- and she hates herself a little bit for it. She tries to convince herself that it's involuntary, muscle memory. Just reacting to the Doctor's touch, even though this man really isn't the Doctor.

_He isn't._

The music swells, and his thumb taps against her spine a couple of times before he says, "You've been avoiding me." She purses her lips. "You've barely spoken two words to me in these past few hours. Have I done something to offend you?" When she doesn't answer immediately, he laughs self-deprecatingly. "Of course, I never seem to say the right thing around you."

She takes in a shuddering breath. "I don't want to talk about this now. 'S not appropriate." She steps back out of his arms, the brief spell broken. "Where's Mary? I want to leave."

"She's already left…as have all but a few people." She'd been so focused on him, on _them_, that she hadn't noticed that the buzz of conversation had dwindled to those that were cleaning up. The guitarist is plunking out a little ditty, most likely just a tune to amuse himself or herself as the others finished.

He tries to take her hand, the pads of his fingers barely passing over her skin, and she quickly pulls away. Again, he takes her hand more firmly, this time pushing her cane into her hand before letting go. She bites her lip against the instinctive apology and instead raises her chin.

"Come on," he takes her elbow again to lead her, and this time she lets him. The sounds of the clean up gives way to cicadas and frogs, with the occasional dog bark. Dr. Smith, however, remains silent and is no longer touching her.

They are still a ways from Nurse Redfern's when he breaks the silence. "Allow me to make things right, Rose. I don't like quarreling with you…especially when I don't know what exactly we're quarreling about."

Silence is going to be his only answer for a few minutes, if only because she isn't sure how exactly to respond. She wonders if her heel in his instep, or as best as she could judge where it was without seeing it, would be an apt answer. She stifles a giggle at the thought of looking for his foot with her cane before moving to step on it. But really, what right has she to be jealous? It's not like she _wants_ this…copy, anyway. It just wasn't fair to Nurse Redfern. Even though, deep down, she knew she wouldn't mind putting the nurse in her place. Just a little.

They reach Nurse Redfern's porch and the crunching of gravel beside her stops. "Rose, we're friends, yes?"

She turns towards his voice. "…yeah."

"Good, because I value your companionship." She hears the gravel shift. "No. No, more than that."

She taps her cane to her right, finding the ledge of the porch so she can sit down. He sits down beside her, and she can feel the vibration of him bouncing his knee. She turns toward him and then gasps. She can feel him so close to her now, his warmth near her face, the way she can hear his mouth open before he speaks.

"Before you came, I feel like I was…floating aimlessly here. And then you appeared. And you're- so different. Alive. In the face of things that would make others quit, you keep on. The way you are with Isaac…the way you look out for everyone around you." His hand gently comes to cover hers resting on the porch. "Such a warm heart." The hand that had been resting on hers tilts her chin up. "I-I would very much like to," the fingertips of his other hand are barely touching her temple and cheek as he murmurs, "Kiss you."

With that last sentence she realizes that her eyes had been closed in anticipation. Remembers why she was mad at him in the first place. She abruptly bats his hand off her cheek. "I thought that was between you and Nurse Redfern." When he doesn't reply, she nods tersely before going into the house.

When she finally makes it up into her room, she doesn't even undress. She just lays down on the bed, curling into a ball. Wishing sleep would come to alleviate the dull ache. And so she wouldn't have to think.

She lays there, and her mind keeps shifting between her dreams, trying to figure out how she's going to find the watch and right this mess, and replaying the words of the entire evening in her head. How could he have gone and fallen for the nurse, but he's still trying to- the grandfather clock downstairs begins its melody signaling an hour change, and she shifts, wondering what time it is. She reckons they had left the party a little after eleven. _Bong._ Well, it's now one in the morning.

She leans back to her pillow with a sigh. _Ping!_ She rolls to her side towards the noise. _Ping! Ping!_ Pebbles on her windowpane. Isaac. She trudges over to her window, sliding it up. "Go home, Isaac," she whispers loudly. "It's one in the morning!"

"Rose?"


	9. in the cold, cold night

A/N: Coauthored by HelplesslyNerdy (on Tumblr/Tsp) and myself.

_She leans back to her pillow with a sigh. Ping! She rolls to her side towards the noise. Ping! Ping! Pebbles on her windowpane. Isaac. She trudges over to her window, sliding it up. "Go home, Isaac," she whispers loudly. "It's one in the morning!"_

_"Rose?"_

Dr. Smith. She takes a small step back as she recognizes the voice. "What are you doing?" she hisses. "It's one in the morning!"

"So you said! I couldn't leave things like that between us."

She leans back from both hands on the sill, head between her arms, before straightening up again. "Couldn't this wait until morning?"

"No!"

"I'm pretty sure it can!"

"I want to make things right, now! I won't be getting any rest until I can reconcile with the woman I love, even if I have to stand out here all night!"

She gasps, stumbles back, and fumbles to get her cane. Before her brain even reconnects with her body, she's already out the door. It's a good thing she can't see, otherwise he'd be a bloody pulp by the time she's done with him. She makes her way off the porch around the house.

"Rose?" He's getting closer, so she swipes her cane in front of her, barring him. He yelps softly, and she hears the crunch of grass, probably him leaping back.

"How dare you!" The anger is rolling off her in waves, making her tremble. "What on earth am I supposed to do with that?" _And I had to hear this from you when you're not even yourself._

"These aren't ideal circumstances, I know, but-"

"You'd better explain yourself!"

"I will!" After a beat, he replies, a little more placatingly, "Could we walk? I mean, I'd prefer it if we weren't within earshot."

She clenches her jaw before nodding. If Nurse Redfern were to wake and see them, it wouldn't be good for anyone. They walk in relative silence until they reach the river. She settles on her rock, and she hears him settle on the grass nearby. When he doesn't speak, she begins tapping her cane against the rock. More to relieve her muscle tension than anything else. His hand tentatively covers hers before removing the cane. She pulls back, and it clatters to the ground.

"Rose, I am sorry. I shouldn't have announced my feelings in that manner."

"That isn't enough."

"I know. I wish it were."

She tries to swallow past the lump in her throat before asking softly, "Do you love Nurse Redfern, too?"

"What?" he splutters. "No, most definitely not. Actually, I'm at a loss to know why you think I do." His voice rises in pitch as he sounds more indignant. "I was sitting there in shock when you ran inside!"

"You kissed her! And the walking to church, and she-" She closes her eyes, not wanting to think of how jealous she sounds right now. When he doesn't respond, she continues, "Mary saw you both."

"…oh." He says, very quietly. "It wasn't what you think, Rose."

"Mary seemed to think it was."

"Look," she hears the scratch of fingers through hair, "Nurse Redfern has been the only friend I've made since first arriving here. And she's had a rough time of it, herself. What Mary saw was an unintentional occurrence. We had been talking, and she had been explaining how it had been since losing her fiancé. I have…known loss." He clears his throat. "And I was trying to give her some measure of comfort. Let her know that I knew what it feels like. Before I realized it, she was kissing me."

Rose worries her lip, curling her knees up to her chest.

"I know it wasn't fair, believe me. I've been self-flagellating over it since that moment. But it was comfort imparted between us. And when I realized that she was taking more from it than I meant, I broke away." She hears him closer to her than before. "Rose, please. I promise, I don't feel anything more for her than friendship."

"Did you explain that to her?"

"Er- not as such. I couldn't bear-" he pauses, "I couldn't bear to hurt her when she was so vulnerable."

She scoffs. "Typical. You think that letting this go won't hurt her worse in the long run?"

"I know. And I will make it right immediately." His eagerness makes her want to believe him, to forgive him, but she's still wary.

"Can you ever forgive me, Rose?"

She lets out a puff of air. Can she? "I'm not the one who you need to be apologizing to."

"I know. But can we- can _we_ move past this?"

A part of her doesn't want to forgive him. For that matter, she doesn't want to move past the fact that the Doctor left her in the first place, sticking her in this situation. And how much it just plain _hurts_ that the first real, honest apology she receives from him that doesn't involve a lot of evasion and a lot half-made sentences is in the middle of this, from Dr. Smith and not the Doctor himself. But…she really does have no claim on this man, human _or_ Time Lord.

She draws in a shuddering breath. "I'd like to think so."

He moves to take her hand, but as she feels his hand on hers, she draws back, and he doesn't press. "Good." She hears movement, as if he is standing. "Here, will you walk some more with me? I'd like to take you somewhere." She again feels him trying to take her hand to help her up, and this time she accepts. Once she's standing, he loops her hand tentatively through his arm. She rolls her eyes before gently squeezing it, letting him know it's all right. She can almost feel that grin radiating off him, and it hurts how much she misses seeing it.

They come to the edge of the forest, a little farther than she remembers being, and then he takes her off a path into long grass.

"Where are we going?"

"Oh, one of my favorite haunts. I know you can't, weeell- I know you won't see it, but I thought you might want…"

She merely tightens her grip on his arm and smiles. He's put his foot in it enough tonight for her to keep punishing him. "Why don't you describe it to me?"

"Nope," he pops the 'p'. "I want _you_ to describe it to me."

She lets go of his arm and gives him what she hopes is a withering look.

"Come on!" his voice hits that higher octave that is oh-so-familiar. "I want to experience this through you, too. Just because I see it doesn't mean that I will notice everything you can." She feels his hand lightly take hers lest she pull it away quickly. "Please?"

With a beleaguered sigh, she nods as she threads her fingers through his. "Well, what do you want me to tell you?"

"All of it."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, I know we're in long grass." She lets go again of his hand to tentatively step forward. "If you let me bump into something, I'm gonna kill you."

He chuckles. "I wouldn't dream of it."

She crouches down, palm facing the ground to feel the grass. She pulls a blade through her fingers, finding that it had a soft, thick top. "I bet this is pretty when the breeze blows past." Raising the grass to her chin, she absentmindedly brushes it back and forth. "That was one of my mum's favorite views- the wind blowing through tall grass. Like waves on the sea. We never had much money for holidays, and she hated the sand anyway. But we always went for picnics near parks with long grass." She lightly tosses the blade away, trying to keep from letting those thoughts get to her. "Sure you know what kind of grass that was with all your extensive herbalist knowledge," she teases.

"It's reed-grass," he explains, refusing to be baited.

"Ah. Well, keep going then?" She sniffs the air. The muggy moisture of early summer is making the short hairs of her neck curl. "I can smell the- is that honeysuckle?"

"There are a few of the plants around us, yes."

"'S almost…heavy. Kind of similar to when you get stuck in a lift with some woman with no sense of smell and loads of perfume."

"A…lift? What is that?"

She curses internally. "It's…it's another word for a carriage."

"Mmm. Curious. Well, I was never much for keeping up with the times."

"So I've noticed." She grins before she turns to where she senses his presence. "Is there a clear path in front of me for a few paces?"

"A couple hundred meters, maybe. Why?"

She doesn't answer, and instead takes off running. Her limbs groan after the weeks of disuse, but she feels more herself than she has since this whole thing began. That's one of the things she hates most about the whole bleeding mess. She could run from monsters with the best of them.

You can't run from being blind.

You can't run from your best friend not being the same man.

But, for these few precious minutes, she pretends.

The air rushes past her ears, drowning out all other sound.

She steps wrong on a clod of ground and loses her footing, falling forward. She catches herself on her hands inches above the ground.

"Rose! Are you all right?" He is now running towards her. After a split-second of self-assessment, the absurdity of a blind girl running willy nilly gets to her, and she starts to giggle as she rolls to her back.

He reaches her and he sounds close. She feels the vibrations in the ground and assumes he is kneeling beside her. "What on earth were you thinking? Did you lose what little sense you had to begin with?"

His lack of jest just makes her laugh even harder.

She hears a huff and then a soft thud beside her. "What are you doing?"

"Since you decided to become completely ridiculous, I thought I would lie here and wait it out." The previous edge of concern to his voice has softened. "Besides, it's a clear night. All of the stars are out."

"Tell me about them."

"You aren't finished telling me what you sense."

She snorts. Both of them are stubborn pieces of work- but all this is more like her pesky Doctor. "Fiiiine." She lets her heart rate settle, lets the pounding in her ears give to the other sounds around her. "The crickets and cicadas are so noisy. It took me more than a week to get used to them." A beat passes and he doesn't respond, and she blurts, "Try not to think about the silence, though."

"Why?"

She lies there quietly for a few seconds and hears the crinkle of starched cotton. Probably facing her. "I never knew how loud silence can be."

His hand takes hers confidently- the Doctor's natural, yet firm grip. She brushes her thumb over his, trying to retain nonchalance so he won't know how affected she is by it.

Just holding hands- nothing serious, right? She closes her eyes. She just feels so…_alone_. And here's a man who obviously wants her- and isn't afraid to go for it.

But how much of that is actually the Doctor? Is he even in there at all? Or is she falling for a shadow just because he's willing to give her more?

They continue to lay in silence, hands clasped. After a minute or two passes, Dr. Smith speaks. "Ursa Major and Ursa Minor are out tonight."

"The Dippers?"

She hears him shift towards her. "You've studied astronomy?"

"Oh, just picked up a little here and there."

"Tonight there's Aquila, Saggitta, and Cygnus." With each one, he lifts the hand she's holding and points towards the star clusters. "Three of the summer constellations. Then there's Vega. Brilliant star. It's from the Lyre Constellation. A reference to Orpheus."

They lay there, the cacophony of the night the only noise. Before she could overthink the consequences she asks, "Who did you lose?"

His grip tightens on her hand. She runs her thumb over the top of his hand- trying to soothe, or as an apology, if need be. "There was a girl. And I-" he clears his throat. "I didn't say, and I hope she knew. I was going to lose her. I just couldn't stay…she deserved better."

"What happened to her?" she whispers, afraid to interrupt too loudly.

"She, she…"

When his words fail, she leans her other arm over to rub his arm above where she's holding his hand. She decides to change the subject. "Wasn't Orpheus the bloke that went to the Underworld after his wife?"

"Yes. And didn't trust her enough to come after him. The moment before they would have been safe, he lost her. His own folly." He has let her hand go.

She allows him a few minutes, as it seems he is still wrapped up in his manufactured past. How much of that was real? Did he leave his planet because of a girl? She shakes her head, trying to clear it. "I remember thinking that the constellations never much looked like the stories they were supposed to tell."

"Weeeeelll, you know how it is. People always look for their favorite stories in things. Always look for…connections." With the last word, his fingers begin to brush along the veins in her wrist. "A way to pull everything in their lives together." His fingers continue to trip lightly along until his palm ghosts over hers. Rose tries to keep her breathing steady. "Aren't we all just stories in the end?" He finally laces his fingers through hers again, but draws her hand towards him and they hover for a second before she feels the press of his lips upon her fingers.

This is wrong.

This isn't the Doctor.

She can't be falling for this doppelgänger.

This is wrong.

She jerks her hand away, jumping to her feet and unsteadily walking away.

"Rose?"

She turns to face where she thinks he's standing. "I—" Words fail her.

All she hears is a soft click of him swallowing before his hands are on her elbows and his lips are pressed to hers. They're gone almost as quickly as she realizes what is going on. He's also gone, the only evidence that he is still nearby is his labored breath.

_Don't want to be alone anymore._

She reaches out towards him, fingers grasping the air in front of her. "Doctor?" As she moves to drop her hand back to her side, crestfallen, it catches on the cotton of his shirt. She holds the fabric and uses it to guide herself closer. He stands, as still as a statue, not touching her.

She lays her other hand on his chest, right over his single, rapidly thrumming heartbeat. The other hand mirrors on the other side of his chest. The cicadas fade to the background until all she hears is his breath, his heart. She allows her hands to slowly slide up until they reach the skin of his neck. Slightly sticky from the humidity. The beginnings of stubble start mid-neck, and her fingertips catch a little as they continue up. When her palms are cupping his cheeks, she stops.

"You called me 'Doctor,'" his voice rumbles in his lowest register. With each syllable, she feels his breath on her face.

She allows a small smile. She lifts her hands so just her fingertips are resting on his face. This would be pushing it with the Doctor- but she isn't going to waste this excuse to do something she had only dreamt of doing.

"Can I touch- ?"

Her arms move slightly as he nods.

Her fingers start at his forehead, lightly sweeping through the fringe that is still, to her delight, a mess. From his hair to his skin, from skin to those eyebrows. The one on the right arches impossibly high, and she bites her lip against a grin. As her fingers slide lower and touch his temples, he breathes in sharply. Dancing in, her fingers are tickled by his lashes. She allows just her index finger to trace the line of his nose. Her left hand comes to rest on the side of his neck, her fingernails scratching through the short hairs. Her touch traces his high cheekbones, continuing along to jawline until she reaches his chin. She traces up the cleft and pauses before reaching his lips.

Oh, what she would give to see his eyes right now.

She hesitantly touches his bottom lip. As she begins to trace along them, she feels them part, feels the heat of his breath. Her fingers finish a circuit, and both her hands are at either side of his face, where they began.

A breathless moment.

He cups the back of her head as she tugs his face down. There is no finesse, no delicacy from earlier in the night. He's…everywhere. Her senses caught up in just him. His left arm wrapping around her back, his right hand tangling in her hair. Smelling the tang of sweat, harsh soap, and peppermint. The rigid plateaus of his shoulder blades, the catch of his stubble against her cheeks. All in the midst of the way his lips contour to hers.

When her hair falls from the clasp, tugged loose by his fingers, they both draw back, panting. His lips lean against her forehead, not really a buss, but not without pressure as his breath warms her skin cooling in the night air. His nose burrows into her hairline, and her arms reflexively tighten around his thin waist. She shifts so her head is on his chest, burying her face to suppress a contented sigh.

A twig snapping brings them out of their little bubble. A couple more snaps cause the Doctor, _Dr. Smith_, she corrects, to wrap his arms again around her waist, placing her slightly behind him. Her fingers press into his shirt, a warmth spreading in her chest despite the fear. He was now protecting her. She shook her head, willing away the fluttery feelings.

What if the hunters, the 'Nameless,' had found them here out in the open?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

After a tense moment, nothing has happened. But she's not about to risk it further.

"Best be getting back, yeah?" She tries to keep the tremor from her voice.

He takes her hand and starts leading her back to the village.

When they get back to Nurse Redfern's, she expects that he will try to kiss her again. A little distance from the situation, and now she isn't sure what she wants. When they reach the porch, he brings her fingers that are intertwined with his up and again kisses them.

"Goodnight, Rose."

He holds her hand as he backs away, and she finds that she doesn't want to let go, either. When her arm is held at full length, she finally lets her fingers slip from his.

"Night."

She tries to make as little noise going up the stairs as possible. Once she's down to her shift, she climbs into bed. But there's no way she's going to sleep after that night. After everything that's happened. Especially since she needs to figure out…

The sunlight warms her face. She groggily leans forward, trying to smooth the haystack she can feel on the top of her head. This is the first time she's had a dreamless sleep since arriving. And her head isn't letting her forget that fact. She cleans herself up a little at the washbasin before going downstairs to scrounge up some breakfast. Usually Nurse Redfern leaves her a piece of fruit before heading out that morning, but she must have been called away. The clock chimed the hour while she was dressing. Nine. Late for her now, but she had been out until almost three the last evening.

She is cutting some bread she found to munch on when there is a knock at the door. She wipes her hands on her apron before heading to the door and opening it.

"Hello?" she asks when the person doesn't say anything. She feels familiar fingers lace between hers. She can't help the beam that spreads across her face.

"Run!"

Before she can react, Dr. Smith is pulling her out the door and around behind the house. When they stop, she leans against the wall, panting. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

"No." His hands frame her face, thumbs smoothing over the apples of her cheeks. "Quite the opposite, in fact." Before she can respond, his lips cover hers.

The kiss is short and sweet, much more like the first kiss she always imagined they would have had that didn't involve a life-threatening situation.

He takes a step back, his hands rubbing her upper arms. "You don't know how long I've wanted to do that. It feels like years."

She lifts a hand, seeking his face, and he leans into her palm. Her thumb traces the corner of his wide smile, which she matches. Opening her mouth to speak, she is interrupted by the rumble of her stomach.

She shrugs. "I haven't had my breakfast yet."

His giggle is so close to the Doctor's, her heart clenches. She is once again pulled into a brief kiss before he leads her back around the front of the house.

"You go eat your breakfast. I need to make a few calls in this area anyway." When they come to the front of the house, he lets go of her hand. "May I come 'round later? We could maybe go for a walk."

"I'd like that." She tucks her chin, hoping that the blush she feels creeping into her cheeks isn't as apparent to him in the morning light.

"Good morning, Miss Tyler."

She gives him a light shove. "I'll see you later."

The morning goes by much as usual, her doing what little chores Nurse Redfern has allotted her. The thought of the woman makes her feel quite guilty now. Hopefully Dr. Smith is a man of his word and took care of it this morning. Though, it would make for very awkward living arrangements. But maybe she'd be adult about it.

At least, she hopes the nurse would be.

Rose is cleaning up the dishes when a sharp pain shoots through her skull. The dish she is holding falls into the tub with a clatter as she digs the heels of her palms into her temples. After a couple of deep breaths the pain subsides, and she opens her eyes to a fuzzy, white blur.

She can see something.

_She can see!_

Trembling fingers work at the knot in her apron. She has to go and find the Doctor and tell him the good news. The white blur shifts in brightness as she moves, and she figures that it's the change of intensity of light through the house.

_She can see!_

She takes her cane and immediately goes off in the direction of the Doctor's house. Not wanting the villagers to try and hinder her is the only thing keeping her from breaking out into a full run. Once she reaches his house, she bounds up the steps and to the door. When she goes to knock, she finds that it's already open.

"Doctor! Doctor, come quickly!"

She walks further into the house, knowing that he still had a tendency to get wrapped up in his work and do silly things like leave doors wide open. As she reaches forward, her foot knocks into something soft. A tiny moan makes her stop. Did an animal get in here?

As she backs up, she kneels down, trying to see what little she can. She reaches out and touches…clothing. The white blur she sees darkens as she looks down.

She reaches out and realizes it's a person on the floor. The starched cotton, the arm, the long fingers that she knows almost as well as her own- she begins to shake his shoulder. "Doctor." Nothing. "Doctor! What's happened?" She reaches across his chest, trying to find his face. Her hand touching the fabric is suddenly warm and sticky.

All she can see is…red.

Rose screams.


	10. a martyr for my love for you

A/N: Coauthored by HelplesslyNerdy (on Tumblr/Tsp) and myself.

_Not round not metal not it not it not it not it._

_The papers crinkle under her frantic hands._

_No no no no no NO NO NO NO._

_Fire burns through her palm as something slashes through it. She screams, a primal wail, slamming her unharmed hand down on the tabletop. What was the point? Swiping her arms across the desk, she knocks everything to the floor before falling to her knees, choking back a sob._

_"What on earth-?"_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Screaming. She knows it is hers, despite the fact that she feels like it is all happening to someone else. Hands lifting under her arms, steadily dragging her while she thrashes and kicks her feet. She can only hear broken whispers, snatches of words that filter through. "Isaac" and "knife" and "in shock." She stops resisting being taken away from the Doctor, stops moving completely.

_Isaac did this._

She knows that he is jealous of her, that he doesn't like the attention she had been giving Dr. Smith. But was he capable of this? Nothing of this makes sense. Bits hastily shoved together despite their jagged edges not fitting.

"Where is Isaac?" she whispers. "Where is he?" she then shouts, grasping the arm of the man who has finally let her go.

"Miss Rose, you cannot see him now." Elder McCoy. She moves in the direction of the Murrays', and the elder takes her firmly by the shoulders. "He's being watched, do not worry."

She resists half-heartedly before slumping, tears finally brimming over her eyelids. What would she have done? Killed him? Slapped him until it never happened in the first place?

…no. She needed to get back to the Doctor. _The Doctor._

The watch.

_The watch so he can regenerate._

She shrugs out from under Elder McCoy's grasp and begins running towards the Doctor's house, arms outstretched to keep from running into anything. His house is mercifully close, and her legs bump into his porch. She frantically runs her palm along the edge and bounds up as she finds the stairs.

She reaches out her hand to allow the wall to guide her, turning sharply to the left to go into the office where the spent most of his time. Catching herself multiple times, she ignores the many things littering the floor that cause her to almost fall. She immediately goes for his desk, praying that the watch is somewhere inside or on top of it.

As she grasps at everything on the desktop, she tries to use what little sight she has to guide her motions. The white blur is now fuzzy shapes, but not clear enough for her to truly distinguish anything. He's upstairs fighting for his life, and she has to help him! In her haste, her hand catches on a letter opener and is sliced open. She howls in pain before knocking everything to the ground in frustration. Slumping to the ground, tears fill her eyes until a voice calls her back.

Nurse Redfern. Rose draws the sleeve of her dress under her nose and rocks back to rest on her feet. She expects a long lecture or at least disdain.

"What are you looking for, Rose?" The nurse's voice is strained, still obviously in shock.

Need the help. "A watch."

There's the rustling of papers being moved. "A- watch? Like a pocket watch? Whatever for?"

She knows that she has nothing to prove her and the Doctor's story to this woman. "It's…it's an heirloom of his. Something of comfort for him." Her voice cracks. "He _needs_it."

Joan sniffs. "Well, I've never seen this watch."

Rose's eyes close.

"But I'll send Mary over to help you. I can't spare a moment. Came for some thread." The nurse's skirts swish about the room as she looks for whatever of the Doctor's supplies she needs. "Thankfully one of the elders had previous military experience in field dressing wounds. Though I don't know if he can-" Another sniff. "He _has_ to."

Rose reaches out, hoping to impart some empathy, perhaps receive some, but Joan is already gone.

Mary comes into the office just scant seconds later. She's thankfully silent. Rose probably looks a shock, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is finding that bloody watch.

After tearing apart every room of the Doctor's small cottage, outside of the one where his fate is currently being decided- but it's not here. He could have lost it in the crash or the subsequent months he was here before she arrived.

What now? There's no way for her to find the TARDIS as the villagers refuse to even near the edge of the forest, and she certainly can't find it on her own. And it looks like the watch has been lost in the chaos of this whole mess. If he dies while human, does that mean he won't-?

Rose refuses to go home to clean herself up but allows herself to be led outside to a rocking chair. They won't let her be with the Doctor, but she will stay as close as she can- can't leave him.

She jolts as an unfamiliar hand takes hers and places a cup of water in it. "Drink up, Miss Tyler."

She blearily places the voice, long after the woman has left her side. Elder Brahme's wife. The skin of her hand feels like it's cracking, flaking away. But it's not, it's that cut, and a bit of his…she hasn't cleaned up yet. Her eyes slide shut, the blissful dark easing the headache that the white blur has begun to give her.

The clack of leather heels against the boards of the porch nears her. "Miss Rose?"

Mary. She finally takes a sip of the water, trying to wet her chalk-dry mouth to loosen her tongue.

"Are you all right, Miss Rose?"

"…I don't know," she says, voice barely above a whisper.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No."

A pause. The boards creak a little. "I'll go and see if the nurse needs anything."

A few moments later, she recognizes Joan's step. She leaps to her feet. "How is he?"

"I don't know if he'll make it." A dull burn starts in Rose's chest, her breathing becomes ragged. "We've stopped the bleeding, and none of his internal organs were severely damaged, but," she takes in a deep breath. "He's lost a tremendous amount of blood. And we don't have the resources we could to fight infection should he get it."

Rose feels her own face fall, but- "Wait, did you say 'could'?"

Joan takes her elbow, tugging her along. She leads her off the porch and around the side of the house. Rose is so bewildered at the action, she complies. The nurse abruptly stops.

"There is medicine. Outside. Medicine that could save Dr. Smith."

Rose blinks rapidly. "What?"

"You know- _outside_." She emphasizes this word like Rose should know its significance, but Rose just nods once so she'll continue. "I can make a list of what is needed, and maybe the elders would let you go."

"But what about the forest? Not leaving the village? I don't know if they-"

"Miss Redfern? Nurse?" Elder Brahme's voice carries from the front of the house.

"Yes, Elder?

"I believe the doctor needs something more to sedate him. He's too restless."

"Yes, sir." She hears the nurse pass beyond her.

This may be her chance. "Elder?"

"Yes, Miss Tyler?"

"Let me go beyond the village."

A pause, but she hears the crunch of grass come nearer to her. "What did you say?"

"Is there a way for me to go beyond the woods for medicine?"

"No. It's not possible. Even if it were, if the," he clears his throat, "even _if_ the Nameless did not exist, outside of our village is not safe."

She clenches her fists, trying to keep her voice calm. "You don't understand. I_have_ to save the Doctor."

"We're doing all we can to help-"

"No!" She doesn't care if it isn't proper to stand up to authority here. "If there is a chance- if there is _any_ way for me to save him, then you all can't stop me."

The elder doesn't immediately respond. She begins to panic, worried that she's ruined the only chance she had of saving him. "Please," she asks brokenly. "Please let me try to help him. I don't know what I would do if…"

He still says nothing.

She instinctively draws her hands, still crusted with blood, through her hair. She's just so tired. Grasping at her last shred of hope.

She goes to walk back to the porch when his voice stops her.

"I will talk to the other elders."

In her shock, she isn't able to respond before he is gone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A good cleaning up helps to raise her spirits a little. As much as they can be under the circumstances. They still won't let her be with him, but Joan said that he was doing as well as could be under the circumstances.

_You have to hold on for me._

So many tears, so many prayers have been said since this all began. She knows she'll eventually have to rest, but her brain hasn't stopped speeding around in circles. More often than not, she catches herself tapping her cane against the nearest surface while she waits to hear from the elders.

Rose is absently rocking when a boy runs up to fetch the nurse to talk to the council.

She jumps to her feet. "I'll go get her."

She runs to the Doctor's bedroom. "Nurse Redfern! The council wants to speak with you!"

"All right. I suppose I can be away from him for a few minutes."

"May I stay with him?" she asks, voice barely audible.

"Of course."

She tentatively feels for the edge of the bed and then uses it to guide her up. She glides her fingers up the quilt until they bump into his fingers. So cold. She grasps his hand gently and tries not to start crying when his fingers don't instinctively lace with hers.

After a few horrible moments of listening to his faint breathing, she whispers, "You have to get through this." She smiles, trying to replicate their banter. "You promised my mum you would always bring me home." The weak grin falls from her face as his voice doesn't immediately overlap hers. Hot tears track down her face, dripping to her lap.

The next words hoarsely carve their way up her throat. "Doesn't matter what face you're wearing, Time Lord or," she swallows, "or human. _You_ are my home."

Though the position is awkward, she lays down beside him, resting her cheek on his hand.

It's there that Nurse Redfern finds her. "Rose?"

She had dozed off for just a moment. Remembering where she is, she sits up as gingerly as possible. "Yes?"

"The council has agreed to let you go."

Rose stands, reaching forward. Joan takes her hand, albeit loosely. "Thank you."

Joan sniffs and pats Rose's hand once before dropping her own. "Come, we'll have to get you ready."

While she changes into clothes more suitable for traveling, Joan describes to her the directions to get through the woods. She will be wearing a color to denote her as a non-threat to the Nameless, who should allow her safe passage then.

The elders did not want to make it generally known that they supported her going into the woods, so Nurse Redfern would have to merely point her in right direction before leaving her.

They reach the edge of the village. "Just keep walking straight from here into the woods. Remember what I told you," Joan whispers.

Rose nods.

"Get the medicine for him, Rose. He's relying on you now."

Rose reaches her hand out, which the nurse takes. A look of confusion crosses Rose's face as she realizes that Joan has shoved a piece of paper in her hand.

"Everything you need." Joan gives it a firm shake before letting go.

Rose then hears the crackle of leaves denoting the nurse's departure.

She leans over to pick up her cane from the ground, the familiar wood now an odd comfort to her. She runs her thumb over the smooth, flat sides until she reaches the top and stops. There are new little ridges there. She runs her fingertips along them, trying to decipher the words or the picture. It's a…_rose_.And a pretty intricately carved one, at that. Who would have-?

A lump fills her throat. That night. The night that they talked by the river, she had dropped her cane and not picked it back up. He must have gone back to retrieve it- that was the reason he came back that morning. He probably didn't sleep at all that night as he did this for her… Tears blur her limited vision as she leans forward and covers her mouth, barely stifling a sob.

She roughly swipes away the tears that have fallen. She has to get moving.

The cloak they have given her is woolen and extremely heavy. It feels like the outside has been treated to help weatherproof it. She can make out that it is a bright, goldenrod yellow. The elders have given her something round and heavy like an old coin with a small piece of paper they said would denote where she's from and who she is should she run into any trouble. She can't make heads or tails of the design. She tucks it into the pack along with the list of medicines she needs and the provisions she's been given.

A wind rustles the leaves above her. She'd made it through the forest blind and alone, right? She is prepared this time around.

Rose covers her head with the hood. Squaring her shoulders, she steps into the forbidden wood.


	11. i'm slowly turning into you

A/N: Coauthored by HelplesslyNerdy (on Tumblr/Tsp) and myself.

It's cool in the shade of the trees.

Above her head, breezes play in the canopy, making branches creak and leaves dance. Underfoot, the feathery tips of ferns brush against her ankles. The air is loamy with the scent of damp earth and decaying wood.

It's beautiful, almost certainly, but now, all she can think is that it feels endless, and she has so little time. Rose wipes a bit of spider's web from her brow with a filthy hand, checks that the sun is still to her left. Got to keep moving.

According to Joan Redfern's instructions, if she heads north, she'll come to an enormous blackberry thicket. She's should skirt it to the west until she finds the bank of a dry riverbed, walk along that until the ground becomes marshy, and then turn and go directly west until she crosses a path going northwest. It will lead her to two great standing stones and the way out of the forest.

Rose has no idea how long it will take, but every delay is maddening. There's a clock ticking away inside her head as she travels. Seconds slip past like drops of blood, spilling, pooling into minutes and hours. She could swear she's spot on, too—a perfect timepiece. A metronome, tallying footsteps and shallow breaths and every one of his remaining heartbeats.

_How do you do that_, she'd asked him once, when he'd rattled off the time like it was nothing.

The Doctor had rolled his blue eyes, shrugged in his leather jacket. _Eh, it's easy,_ he'd said._ I just count how many times you blink._ Then he'd grinned that bigger-than-life grin, grabbed her hand, and off they'd run.

She'd asked him again, later. Several times, actually, and the answer was always the same—he'd say that he'd been keeping track of how often she tapped her feet or bit her fingernails or, if he was being particularly grumpy, wandered off.

After the regeneration, she'd gone a long time without bringing it up. In the wake of him changing his face and then Sarah Jane and all that, the last thing she'd wanted to deal with was another unanswered question. But a week or so before he'd turned himself human, and this whole mess had started, they'd been stuck in a particularly cramped drainage pipe, listening for the sounds of their pursuers, and he'd done it again—muttered the time just as though he'd had a clock inside his head.

Mostly to distract herself from the smell and the cold and the feel of his chest pressed up against her back, she'd whispered, _Still don't know do you do that._

His head had been just over her shoulder, one hand still lingering at her waist from when he'd pulled her back into the shadows. She remembers how he'd leaned into her a little bit more, the hushed sound of his shifting feet echoing in the pipe.

_Oh, didn't I tell you?_ he'd whispered back, his warm breath tickling her ear. _ I count your heartbeats._

She'd known it was just another tease, another non-answer, even as the blood had rushed to her face and the rhythm in her chest had raced ahead. But that hardly seemed to matter what with the way his fingers had tightened on her ribs, one of them tapping it out, one-two, one-two. She could feel his mouth rounded in a smile as it brushed against the side of her head, and her lips curved up in response.

Those hands had been getting freer of late, the hugs longer, the flirts more blatant, and she'd been more than happy to blow off the words themselves in favor of the promise behind them.

It's kind of funny, thinking of that now.

She's still sure he doesn't keep track of the time based on how often she sneezes or whatever, but maybe there's another side to what he'd said, one she hadn't really been able to see before. He's lived for centuries, will live for centuries after she's gone. But while she's here, at least, he's tying the rhythm of his life to hers, tracking the passing moments by the way she fills them. It's heady and terrifying, wonderful and vulnerable, and every now and then, it shakes him to his very core.

So yeah, now she understands him better. Now that his life is the more finite, oh, does she ever. And she thinks she knows exactly why he was counting those heartbeats—because it's the only metric that matters. Human or Time Lord, the Doctor or John Smith; they are blurring together in her head, and it hardly makes a difference which is who and who is which. Just as long as that heart keeps beating.

She rubs her thumb over the carved rose on her cane like a talisman and presses on.

Nearly an hour later, she reaches the blackberry thicket. She's a little surprised to have found it this quickly, but Joan hadn't really been specific about how long each leg of the journey would take. And, Rose thinks as she gingerly finds her way around the thorny vines, wincing as they tear at her hands and clothes, she's hardly going to complain. The sooner she can get out of the forest and reach the towns, the better.

Once she finds the bank of the riverbed, she sighs in relief. It's wide and open, clear of trees and brush—finally a chance to make good time. The third time she falls, though, tripping over river rocks and sprawling face-first into the mud and leaves on the forest floor, she forces herself to slow down. Taking a moment to rest, she limps over to a fallen log and sits.

It's frustrating, having to creep along like this while his life is hanging by a thread, but the only alternative is crashing headlong through the forest. She'd probably kill herself in the process, and she'd definitely run the risk of attracting unwanted attention.

Rose takes a drink of water from her canteen and shivers at the thought. The last thing she wants is any sort of altercation with the aliens in this forest. Her vision has come back enough for her to make out the fuzzy shapes of tree trunks and the brighter patches of sunbeams, but she's not in any sort of shape to run or fight. And the idea of being stalked through the woods, unable to see what pursues her is terrifying.

Wait, what was…?

The flickering yellow light of sunbeams slipping through the treetops has been a constant in her cloudy vision, but for an instant, she could have sworn it flashed greener than before. She shifts back and forth, looking up at the forest canopy, but all she can see is _bright_—she must be sitting in a particularly sunny spot. There are definitely no bursts of green light to be seen.

Huh. Maybe it was her eyes adjusting or something. She closes them, listens for any suspicious sound, but there's nothing. If anything, the forest seems unusually quiet.

Uneasy, she stands, adjusts her pack, and keeps walking, carefully brushing bits of dirt and moss off her cloak as she goes.

She's tempted to take the cloak off because it's really not doing much for her camouflage-wise, and she can't imagine what sort of alien is going to be scared off by the color yellow, but…well, stranger things have happened. She feels more conspicuous than protected, though, as she picks her way painstakingly across the rocky ground. Conspicuous and vulnerable.

_Just be quick and quiet, and don't think about it too much._

That's what the Doctor would say, at least. The two of them sneaking into enemy camps, sneaking out of alien prisons, through towns, through sewers, through caves. Trainers muffling the sound of their footfalls; shadows hiding their movement. Now, every sweep of her cane rustles the leaves on the forest floor. Twigs crunch and snap under her every step.

She could swear she's never breathed this loudly before.

It'll be alright, she tells herself. Whatever lives in these woods can't possibly be watching everywhere at once, no matter what the townsfolk believe. The forest is huge, must be huge to cut them off from the rest of the world, so with any luck, she'll be able to slip through entirely unnoticed.

It's just that…well. It's almost certainly nothing. The Doctor had told her about the power of suggestion before, that whole 'don't think of a pink elephant' thing and all. That's probably all it is.

Probably.

But…but she can't quite shake that prickly, back-of-the-neck feeling. Like there are eyes watching her. Tracking her movement.

Doesn't really make sense, she reasons. If they could see her, they'd do something about it, not just follow her around. That would pretty much make them the worst alien villains ever, she thinks with a half-laugh. Or maybe they really are scared of the cloak.

Still, for all her joking, when she lifts a hand to brush her hair off her face, she finds that she is shaking, just a bit. For so long, she has wanted to be able to venture into the woods, to find answers, to find the TARDIS, anything, but the reality is that she can't be quick and she can't be quiet.

Yeah, try not to think about it too much, she reminds herself with a snort, tightening her grip on her cane. Easier said than done.

Under her feet, the ground slowly becomes soft and springy, and then boggy. When she reaches the first true pool of water, Rose kneels and touches the wet earth. Marsh, check. Now she just has to find that path. She carefully marks the position of the sun and heads directly toward it.

She keeps walking.

She doesn't find the path.

About an hour later, as she's still pushing through the rough underbrush, she hears something that sounds an awful lot like footsteps.

At first, she thinks it's just the flutter of a moth's wings, since the little insects seem fascinated with flying around her head. But even after she waves them away, she still hears those faint sounds. They seem like they're coming from somewhere behind her, quiet and stealthy, pausing whenever she does. She whirls around, trying to catch whatever it is, only to be greeted by silence. Nothing there.

It happens again. And then again.

But nothing reveals itself; there's no attack, no movement amidst the patchwork of trees. No sound of pursuit when she stops awhile and waits.

Huh.

Must just be a pink elephant.

The sun is getting low in the sky, casting long shadows everywhere, and the air is growing cooler. Soon it will be too dark to see anything at all. Rose worries her lip between her teeth and wonders if she should try to camp for the night. She's pretty sure she could navigate the terrain in the dark, but without either the sun or the path, she'd have no way of keeping to the right direction. And then there's the problem of the aliens—would it be better to keep moving and get clear of the forest as quickly as possible, or make camp and hope to stay hidden from hostile eyes?

Of course, she doesn't have much in the way of camping supplies, and no weapons to speak of. In retrospect, this seems odd—surely Joan would have known it would take her more than half a day to get clear of the forest and reach another town. Or maybe she hadn't realized that it would take Rose longer with her vision impaired. But if the other towns are this close, why don't they ever have any visitors?

In her panic to leave, she hadn't questioned the details, but now, Rose starts to wonder. Really, does this plan make any sense at all?

A cold rush creeps down her spine. They hadn't… They wouldn't…

She swallows. No. They wouldn't have let her come out here, alone and unarmed, if there wasn't some way out. They _wouldn't._

Just then, she thinks she catches the soft sound of footsteps again. Closer this time.

Fear clawing at her throat, Rose scrambles her way through the undergrowth, tree branches snagging her hair, brush scratching her arms and pulling at her clothes. She has to get through. She has to get out of here. She has to—

She falls flat, tripping over a tree root, and lands smack in the middle of the path. The sound of pursuit fades again.

"Oh, thank you," she pants with relief as she collects herself and stands. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Finally, a chance to really _move._ She hurries, nearly running now that she's free of the shrubbery. The path winds and bends, but it's easy enough to follow with her cane to track the borders, and it's wide and flat enough to traverse without tripping. It occurs to her that the Nameless must use it—why else would it be so clear?—but at this point, she doesn't care. That clock in her head is still ticking away, and it's time to get out of this forest.

The sun is just starting to dip behind the hills when the path turns again, directly west this time. Walking toward the sunset is a little tricky—most of the direct light is blocked by trees and such, but every now and again, she'll get a bright beam to the face, making her eyes smart and water.

As she clears a fallen log, Rose pauses, peering forward. She's not totally sure, but it looks like there's some sort of hill or bank up ahead. A fence, maybe? It's not too tall—maybe ten feet or so, but she can't see any way around it. Oh, but there. As she gets closer, she can just make out two tall shadows against the bright sunlight.

The standing stones. They are marking a passage through the fence or bank or whatever it is.

Rose approaches slowly. Nurse Redfern was a little unclear about where she's supposed to go after she goes through them, but she definitely said they were the way out. So maybe the forest thins out on the other side of the bank, or maybe there'll be a road or something.

The wind picks up as she gets closer, tugging at her cloak and making the leaves rustle around her feet. The sunlight seems to dim, and the air grows colder.

Behind her, she hears a branch snap.

She spins, readying her cane and squinting into the gloom. She can't make anything out, can't see any motion.

Another crack of breaking wood, from the other side this time.

A shuddering breath leaves her body, leaving a cloud of vapor hanging in the air. She still can't see any threat, but those sounds were too loud to just be her imagination. She closes her eyes, tries to rely on her other senses.

The air turns sour, smelling of cold, rotted earth. It's hard to hear anything over the wind and her own heartbeat. But then, just under the rush of air and blood, she catches it. A low hiss.

And then, once more, the sound of footsteps. Coming from up ahead this time.

It's the color she sees first, as her eyes fly open. In this endless array of green and brown, the bright red cloaks make them stand out as they sweep out from between the standing stones. They are tall, she can see that much, and larger than a human.

The Nameless.

"St-stay back," she warns, holding her cane aloft. "'M warning you."

She receives another hiss in reply, sharper this time. The two creatures fan out, flanking her.

Rose struggles to speak calmly even as she spins back and forth to keep both of them in view. "I don't mean you any harm. Just let me pass through."

One of them swipes at her, claws clattering, and she stumbles back, still brandishing her cane. By accident, she manages to get a bit closer to the stones, and it gives her an idea.

Positioning herself a little closer to the creature on the right, she speaks again. "Look, I don't know where you're from, but it's not Earth, yeah?"

When it answers with a snarl and another swing of its claws, she dances back, gaining more ground. The noise coming from them both is becoming more menacing.

She tightens her grip on her cane, edging backward. "So why don't you just tell me where you're from? Bet I can help you get home. I know somebody who'll be able to help."

The spluttering hisses coalesce, become words. "Fffforbidden! None may pass here!" says one.

"A tithe! A tithe must be paid for this outrage, or the villagers will suffer the consequencesssss," snarls the other.

"No fair taking it out on the whole village," says Rose quickly. She is nearly to the threshold of the stones. If she can reach it, she'll turn and take her chances running. "I'm the one responsible. And if it's payment you want, I can get you all sorts of things. If you can help me find this big blue box in the forest, that is."

The creatures don't seem to be listening, though. As she dodges another strike and her back hits one of the stones, they shriek, "Death! Death to all who dare venture he—"

"Scanning. Egress protocol chip detected," interrupts a calm, deep voice. "Security program deactivated."

"Wait, what?" says Rose in confusion and then watches as the two cloaked figures flicker out of existence. The menacing wind dies down, and the sunlight returns. "What the hell…?"


End file.
